Elf Lord
by JMK758
Summary: Gibbs and the other Agents frequently refer to Tim McGee as 'Elf Lord' with varying degrees of affection or ridicule. Now they discover that some Elves, like some Leprachauns, are best left alone.
1. Waiting

This is my eighth NCIS Mystery, all following one progression. The list of stories grew so long that I move it, with summaries, to my Profile.  
NCIS is © Belisarius Productions. I make no money on this and I own none of the characters. I do own Reverend Siobhan (Sha-vawn) O'Mallory and original Agents.  
Rating: T or NCis-17.

Elf Lord  
by JMK758  
Prologue

McGee and DiNozzo stand in the musty, trash-lined back staircase on the third story of the four floor walkup. Their backs are pressed to the wall on either side of the brown rear door. Marine Private Jimmy Carstairs should be within.

Gibbs, Lee and David are at the front door, guns drawn and ready. All five wear Kevlar vests under their black 'NCIS - Federal Agent' jackets. Sigs are ready, safeties off. Synchronized digital watches count down the last ten seconds toward 5 a.m.

DiNozzo gives one last silent signal. When he kicks the door, he'll go in high and left, McGee low and right.

Four seconds to 5:00. DiNozzo steps out and readies himself. At zero two doors splinter as one. Authoritative shouts of 'Federal Agents' fill the air. The two teams move in.

DiNozzo and McGee have broken into a bedroom. Unoccupied. McGee checks the bathroom, DiNozzo the closet. 'Clear'. Snapped reports of 'Clear' come from the other side of the apartment as the men move out, check the kitchen. The only other room is to the left, the living room occupied by the other team.

"DiNozzo and McGee coming out," Tony announces. They get Gibbs' acknowledgement before they do.

They gather in the large living room, put their weapons back into holsters, inspect the fruits of their surprise raid.

x

The living room is less that than a factory. All the equipment for the preparation of various forms of narcotics surround them. "Home grown operation," DiNozzo concludes, "just like we figured."

Hundreds of packets of white powder are piled high in the room. Separation and preparation tools fill the room.

Their source was accurate. Jimmy Carstairs is about to make a connection that will lead him from the lower echelons to a big time market. And the men and women of the Corps are to be his patsies.

"Home grown for now, but where's the farmer?"

"Could he have been tipped off?" They had seen him enter the building twenty minutes ago, and both exits had been covered.

"I never put it past anyone," Gibbs declares, looking about the apartment. With both doors smashed open, there is no way to disguise the raid. Their opportunity to catch their quarry in the act has vanished, but they will still catch him.

He could, of course, have left via the roof or be hiding in some other apartment, but they can't smash down every door. "Photos, bag and tag. Ziva, Lee, on guard."

x

The adrenaline rush over, there is time now for the collection of evidence. This will be used in the eventual Court Martial. Jimmy Carstairs, age 19; occupation, drug dealer with large ambitions and small skills, will not become a drug lord.

He has a better shot at being a serf.

With Lee and David on guard near the front and rear, alert for their returning quarry, the others begin the search.

x

DiNozzo, finishing sketching the triangulated scene while McGee takes pictures, makes what he considers to be the most significant insight into the mind of their quarry. "His brain has rotted."

Gibbs, attracted by the declaration, joins his Senior Field Agent at a large bookcase. "What have you got?"

"No wonder he turned to a life of crime. His brain is dead," DiNozzo announces, waving his hand over the books and DVDs packing it. "Conan, Red Sonja, Xena Warrior Princess, Hercules, Young Hercules, Kull, Sorceress, Hawk the Slayer... We're not gonna have to worry about this clown, he'll soon be dead of 'Sword and Sorceryitus'." Gibbs' hand comes up fast. "Thanks, boss, but mine isn't the one that needs a jump start."

"What's wrong with 'Sword and Sorcery'?" McGee asks from beside one of the multitude of bags, pausing in placing them into a large Evidence bag. "For decades it's been a popular form of entertainment and a legitimately recognized genre in fiction."

"Did you not see how popular it was at the Hotel Maritz?" Ziva asks, referring to that memorable case during the Memorial Day Weekend some four months ago. It was, at least, memorable for her.

"I thereby rest my case. Didn't you see all the broohaha's walking around in those ridiculous costumes all weekend?"

"I noticed that _you_ could not rip your eyes off the Xenas or Red Sonjas," she reminds him with a smirk.

"I'm not the one who dressed them."

"No, you wanted to be the one who un-."

"A little less bull, people," Gibbs cuts them off, "and maybe we can be done by breakfast. Or do I have to _remind_ you that that's the sort of thing we had to deal with that killed five people on the Carson case?"

Suddenly the thought is no longer as funny.

xx

It takes over an hour more to document and collect the evidence. When they are ready, the teams leave as they had come. Gibbs' car is in the front of the building, DiNozzo's in back. He and McGee descend the rear stairs, boxes in one hand to leave gun hands free.

"Tony, what have you got against fantasy entertainment?" McGee asks. To him it's just a convivial way to pass the return trip, but DiNozzo is not feeling convivial.

"Nothing, Probie, I feel it's great - for starting fires in fireplaces and lining bird cages."

"Come on," McGee says, leading the way down the flights, "you must have found something you like."

"I never read it. That stuff'll rot your brain."

"You recognized Xena."

"Hot chick in leather who wears a _low_ cut top, skirt down about to her hips, who does high kicks and flips? That's not 'Sword and Sorcery', McWizard, that's _Biology_."

"There's a lot of fine work in the field," Tim insists, feeling he has to defend his stand. "What about Edgar Rice Burroughs, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, Joanne Kathleen Rowling?"

They exit the building, turn right toward the car parked across the street by an unbarracaded construction site just beyond the sidewalk. "Come on, Probie-Wan Kenobi, not even _you_ - oh, pardon _me_, 'Thom E. Gemcity', would stoop to writing an 'S&S' novel."

"I already am," he says as they step out into the street, "for the past couple of weeks."

x

DiNozzo can't believe he is hearing right. "What, you'd fry your neurons with that trash?"

"You and Gibbs have called me 'Elf Lord' for so long, it inspired me to try my hand at it."

"_Really_?" Tony is delighted. This is a fertile field from which to harvest a bumper crop for his favorite game 'Torment the Probie'.

"I was working on it this morning, in fact," Tim continues, unaware of the danger he is walking into. "I woke up with an idea for the next scene and couldn't get back to sleep until I put it down on paper. I was just building to the climax when Gibbs called to rush me down here. I had to drop everything and run."

"I know just how you feel, Probie."

"You do?" He seriously doubts it.

"Yeah, I hate it when the phone rings just as I'm about to climax."

Tim looks appealingly up to Heaven; "Why didn't I see that coming?" He tries one last time to get through to his friend. "Listen, Tony–"

A _bang_ comes from behind them and holes the rear window of construction truck, a huge yellow Caterpillar twenty feet further away on McGee's side.

x

Dropping the boxes, they turn, pull their guns and separate. DiNozzo goes left, Tim right toward the curb and the open construction site. A man is a hundred feet away, crouched in the open door of a red car on DiNozzo's side. He fires again. His second and third shots go wild. The Agents return fire, spread out with better angles than the lone shooter.

They're also far better marksmen. Their shots shatter his window, just miss his head. He dives into the car, starts it and stomps upon the accelerator. The car screams forward in a cloud of vaporized rubber. It rockets at Tony and Tim. They continue firing. The windshield, already holed several times, shatters. The car veers directly at Tim.

There's no cover, no car parked nearby. The construction lot to his right extends to the curb and blocks his escape. Backpedaling, he can't find anyplace to run.

DiNozzo runs to him, leaps into the air, prays he is high enough to avoid the front grill, prays he'll make it before the windshield slams into him. He shoves Tim backward toward the curb, his momentum still enough to carry him clear.

The car slams his shoe before he falls flat upon the ground. A massive crash to his right. He keeps his eyes on Tim as the man staggers backward, unable to halt himself. He trips over some debris, topples backward to the ground -

And _vanishes._

x

Tony, unable to believe what he saw, leaps to his feet. A large hole hadn't been visible an instant before. Rushing to it, he looks down to the bottom of a twelve foot drop. A grey tarpaulin is draped about an unmoving man-sized bulk.

He hears a yell from his left, looks to the far corner. Gibbs, Ziva and Michelle round the corner, attracted by the aborted gunfire and loud crash. Looking back into the pit, he sees a steadily enlarging blotch of red near the top and looks back to the running trio. "Hurry!" he yells, "NOW!"

Tony hurries down the debris-covered wall of the pit, prays he's not too late.

Chapter One

Waiting

Gibbs skids to a halt on the rough debris surrounding the huge hole, looks down into the pit. Tony is removing a portion of the bloody gray canvas, uncovers McGee's face. Rather than the required steel slab, someone had covered the hole with only a tarp and McGee had fallen into the trap.

He's not moving. Blood pools behind his head. Tony pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it carefully to the wound. Gibbs starts to climb into the hole.

Ziva and Lee also move to follow, but there's not enough room for them in the debris filled pit, "No. Ziva, call it in. Lee, check Carstairs."

Ziva doesn't want to remain up top, looking down at the blood covered face of her greatest love, but Gibbs point cannot be denied. As Lee moves off to comply with her order Ziva, not caring about the crumpled wreck pressed into the ten ton machine, yanks out her cell phone, stabs '9-1-1'. She watches tensely as the two men strive to staunch the flow of blood. A moment later she hears a woman's voice.

"He's dead."

Ziva's heart turns over before she looks up, sees Michelle beside her, realizes to whom the woman had been referring. Distantly she hears another woman's voice in her ear. "911 Operator, what is your emergency?"

xx

Minutes seem like hours. Sirens have stabbed nerves. Apprehension grips hearts and steals breath.

There was no room in the pit for more than three men. Gibbs and DiNozzo had to give way to the Paramedics who very carefully secure the unconscious Tim McGee onto a stretcher. Then the men, including Ducky and Palmer who had responded to Ziva's call for assistance, ease the stretcher out of the hole. They level it onto a gurney and into the maw of the waiting ambulance.

By Ziva's watch it is twenty-six minutes since Tim fell before he is eased into the conveyance. In that eternity he has not moved. He hasn't made a sound. Ziva holds herself silent, unwilling to ask why he hasn't made a sound. She doesn't want to hear the answer.

Ducky directs Jimmy to prepare the body of James Carstairs as they normally would. A doctor of the living, he'll ride in the ambulance with the Agent. As he boards the vehicle Ziva meets Gibbs' eyes. To him alone will she show the silent apprehension she has hidden from the others.

He nods in acknowledgement of her plea.

Before the ambulance doors close, she boards the van.

xxx

Hospital waiting rooms all over the world are the same. They are white, they are quiet, they are isolated. They are filled with frightened families and friends praying for the best and fearful of the worst. The people don't talk, or if they do it is in soft voices and whispers, as if normal speech would drive away hope. Twenty people are separated from the world by glass and silence, gathered together into knots of fearful hope or sit alone with their dread. They wait for word; word of hope - word of despair - word of life - word of death.

Confined, Gibbs, DiNozzo, David and Lee wait. Brief words pass, attempts at hope, attempts at communication, but they grow fewer and briefer as an hour becomes two. Near the end of the first hour Jenny Shepherd arrived, but she can get no further. Jimmy Palmer arrives in the second hour and brief quiet questions resume and dissolve. The shroud of silence, apprehension denied and pervasive, covers everything.

"I can do more here," Palmer explains to Shepherd. "I don't need a lot to find out how Carstairs died. He was shot six times and crashed into a caterpillar at 60 miles an hour because he was trying to kill Agents DiNozzo and McGee." There's sustained anger under his tone, as though he would challenge an order to go back to Autopsy.

She does not force the choice.

Palmer and Lee eventually gravitate to a corner, not speaking but trying to offer support in silent presence. Lee sits tensely, fingering her silver jeweled engagement ring, not even noticing she is doing it as Jimmy holds her hands.

Gibbs notices that as they begin to converse again in almost silent whispers she clutches in her right hand the tiny ornament on the silver necklace Jimmy had given to her, the silver five pointed star within a circle, all surrounding a Christian cross. Her manner is focused, and this time not on the man whose hands she holds in her left.

x

Gibbs and Shepherd stand aside in the far corner. At her arrival they had spoken briefly about the Carstairs case but that had quickly died. Now they stand in silence, waiting. Neither wants to think of the number of times they have done this and the too many times that waiting had been rewarded with grief.

x

Tony steps up to Ziva who stands at the door. She's staring through the glass to the long view up the white corridor. She watches intently for any news approaching; a doctor, a nurse, anyone. He puts his hand on her shoulder, pretends not to notice her trembling.

It is not a Doctor or Nurse Ziva ultimately sees approaching the Waiting Room, it is the black clad figure of Abby Sciuto hurrying to them. She does not run down the corridor, her stride eats up the distance nonetheless.

When she pulls open the door she suffers the same loss of voice the rest of them have. Her words, intended to be strong if anxious, come out in a barely audible whisper. "How is he?"

"We do not _know_," Ziva whispers tightly, fearing if she raises her voice she will scream. "They will not _tell_ us!"

Abby reaches out to comfort her but Ziva backs out of her reach. For months they have fought over Tim McGee. Now is not a time for touch - if after today there will ever be.

Abby sees the brittle look in the woman's eyes and doesn't try to reach for her again. Looking to Tony, she whispers: "How long?"

"Since the accident, nearly four hours. We've been in here more than three."

Abby glances at her watch. It's barely 10 in the morning. "No one _told_ me!" she declares tightly, anger barely held in check. It will do no good, she knows, to give vent to it. If not for an overheard phrase in the Cafeteria at breakfast….

"Ducky's in with him."

"Then he's in good hands." She tries to believe it, tries to sound assuring, looks back to Ziva.

"For whatever hap–" Ziva can say no more, her lips hard pressed, her breath seized. Abby turns to try to comfort her but she takes a step back, turns and walks further into the room. She is not moving away from her post at the door - she is walking away from Abby.

Uncertain, rejected twice, Abby crosses the room to Gibbs and Jenny. Gibbs doesn't back away from her hug, he knows she needs to receive it even more than to give it.

x

The main door, momentarily unguarded, is opened. A white clad blonde woman steps in, looks over the twenty plus people. Most of the room aims their full attention upon her. "Special Agent Gibbs?"Gibbs steps forward. "Would you please come with me?"

It is a signal for every agent to crowd about her. "Please," she appeals, hands raised to halt the rush, "I was told to bring Special Agent Gibbs."

Ziva steps up to her. "I am coming too." Her voice is as brittle as Gibbs has ever heard it.

"Are you his wife?" the nurse asks uncertainly.

Ziva is trapped, unable to lie, but Gibbs steps in. "I'm his Boss."

Jenny cuts in a half pace in front of him. "And I'm _his_ Boss." She turns to the others. "Stay here."

xx

They follow the nurse into the Emergency Complex. Neither of them dare to hope or allow fear to invade. They can remember making this or similar treks before - and all too often there was grief at the end.

They walk past the wounded and the sick, past the groaning and the crying, past the hopeful and the nearly dead. They pass families and friends fearful or sobbing. They do so silently, each locked in his or her thoughts, guarding against thoughts they will not allow.

They follow the woman through the length of the Emergency Complex and out its back door. They want to question this but before either can speak, forty feet away down the silent white corridor Ducky rises from a chair. They increase their pace, but he pulls off his white fishing hat, holds it in his hands. Jennifer stops dead. Her heart seizes up. She hasn't seen him so grim since the days after Caitlin Todd had been murdered.

She glances at Gibbs. His face has turned to stone.


	2. Greagoir Daibhidh Cearbhall

Chapter Two  
Greagoir Daibhidh Cearbhall

"Ducky," Jenny says as they reach him, cuts in firmly before he can speak, "five words or _less_! Is he _alive_?"

Ducky's visage grows grimmer. "He's alive. And he'll live."

Satisfied with this hopeful prognosis, they are ready to endure any lengthy explanation.

"_However_," Ducky stresses, shattering their relief with the word, "the trauma of striking his head on that block of concrete has produced an unexpected neurological disruption. We are not completely–"

"_Ducky_!" Maybe she is not ready after all.

He regards her with strained patience but some of his tension slips through his polite exterior, "I'm _trying_ to prepare you for something you will find greatly disturbing." He quickly reasserts control, forces the stress in his voice down, addresses them calmly. "Physically he could get up and leave here as early as this afternoon, there is relatively little trauma to his body. But the impact upon his head caused disruption to his brain."

He gives them a few moments to absorb that.

"What sort of disruption?"

"We still have not been able to assess the extent of the damage, and I believe it will take many hours to do so. You can see him, but I doubt that he will recognize you. He did not recognize me - not _exactly_ - and my mention of NCIS produced only a blank stare."

"Amnesia?" Gibbs guesses. He's had amnesia, he'd recovered. McGee can.

Ducky shakes his head. "No, Jethro, that would actually be preferable. I'm sorry, I had to prepare you. Whatever happens, whatever he says or does, please remain _calm_. He must not be agitated."

"We understand, Ducky," Jenny assures him. She's had enough preliminaries. "But please let us in now."

Ducky does not refuse. There is little more he _can _say that could adequately prepare them for the distress that awaits them.

x

When they enter accompanied by the Nurse, McGee lies upon a bed directly across the room. He wears a blue hospital gown that covers him only forward and above the knees. There's a middle-aged man to their left wearing a white lab coat, but it is their friend that holds their attention. Except for a band of gauze wrapped several times horizontally about his head, he appears normal.

"This is Dr. Jon Sullivan, Timothy's Neurologist," Ducky says softly to Shepherd and Gibbs, but the introductions are cut short. At his words McGee opens his eyes and turns to them. They are startled that an instant later he's out of the bed. Two steps it takes to cross the room and he drops to his right knee before them.

"Your Majesties, I am honored by your visit," he looks up at them, focusing on the startled Shepherd, "I kiss your feet, O Gracious Lady Sovereign."

As he bends low to do exactly that Jennifer is about to back away when she catches Ducky's warning look and recalls his admonition; 'Whatever happens, whatever he says or does, please remain _calm_, he must not be agitated.'

Vastly uncomfortable, she holds still as he kisses each of her shoes and then straightens, still on his right knee, his body ramrod erect. Head up, his manner is noble even in subservience. "May I know the reason why I am here again, how and why I have been returned while performing so vital a Quest for your Majesties' sake? We had made such great progress, only for I to find myself here attended by your Court Physicians. Why have you summoned me back with your Quest so neigh completion?"

Though he addresses both of them, it is to Gibbs that he looks and the Agent has no idea how to answer. He glances at Ducky who gives him a helpless shrug. He sees that Ducky has his cell phone out and is filming this; it just might work provided the doohah in the thingy holds out long enough.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Perhaps this will provide a clue.

"I and Muirne had defeated a force of fifty men before the castle of Cormac Ciardha Dubhshlaine, sustaining several wounds in fierce battle when I found myself here. Why, my Liege?"

Gibbs wishes he knew, but if McGee had indeed fought fifty men alongside this 'Muirne' he's not surprised they sustained several wounds. This may well have provided a clue. If in his mind Tim sees him as his King, Gibbs will just take their real relationship and expand it a hundred fold.

x

"You _Dare _to question your King?" he demands with supreme haughtiness. "What are you that you dare put Us to the question?"

"Forgive me, Sire; I mean no disre-."

"_Who are you_?" Gibbs' demand thunders through the room, startling everyone except Tim, who takes the force as to be expected from the king.

"I am Greagoir Daibhidh Cearbhall, Lord of the Elves that reside beyond the river Tygren in the land of Dubhrein, who has answered your Majesties' Summons for aid."

x

"And who am I?"

The question confuses Tim. "Sire?"

"You were injured, I want to make sure you still know who everyone is and what you're doing here for me."

"You are Tighearna Conri Anrai, High King of the race of Men."

"And this is?" he indicates Shepherd standing beside him. He can see she's trying not to look like she's holding her breath.

"Brigid Ailish Filelma; Most Gracious Queen of all Men and your Consort these many long seasons."

"And him?" He indicates Ducky who is filming the exchange.

"He is Fearchar Ceallachan Grada, your Court Physician."

"And him?" He indicates Jon Sullivan.

"I know him not."

"He's your Neurologist." Tim looks up at him blankly. "What about her?"

McGee looks at the woman in white standing by the door. "I know her not, Sire."

"Never mind. We will return shortly. Until we do, you will not attempt to leave this room."

"You yourself charged me to the Quest, Sire. I have until the darkening of the moon."

"And then?"

Tim is shocked to be asked this. "He will _ravage _her!"

"Who will ravage _who_?" It is hard to keep this demand short of a shout.

If Tim was shocked before, he is now doubly so. "Cormac Ciardha Dubhshlaine will desecrate the Princess Mairenn Ceibhfhionn Ciorsdan, your daughter, at midnight on the night of the dark moon if you do not hand over the kingdom to him. If he will not be _given_ the kingdom, he will take control of it as Regent of your male heir. After a Legion of men were defeated attempting to storm his castle, you summoned me because I and Muirne Cainneach Sorcha alone can enter the Dark Lord's castle to rescue her." He looks about, as though suddenly remembering something. "Where is Muirne, Sire?"

Gibbs doesn't know. He cannot even tell from the odd name who Muirne is, if it a man or a woman or what he or she was doing. "You will wait here. You will _not_ leave."

"By your command, Sire."

xx

"That's not McGee," Jenny declares as soon as the door is shut, leaving Tim with the Doctor and Nurse. "The way he stands - I mean kneels - the way he moves, his speech, his accent, his almost arrogant confidence even in subservience..."

"No," Ducky agrees, "that is not Timothy. That is Greagoir Daibhidh Cearbhall, the Elf Lord."

"He didn't know Sullivan," Gibbs points out.

"Nor did he know Nurse Matthews. They don't exist in his world, at least not yet. They may become integrated into his psyche, but not now, not yet."

"He doesn't know Neurologists either, yet McGee knows exactly what they are."

"I'm afraid, right now, that there _is_ no 'McGee'."

"There's a McGee all right," Gibbs declares, striding away down the hall, "and I'm going in after him."


	3. Dramatis Personae

Chapter Three  
Dramatis Personae

Gibbs leads Shepherd and Ducky back to the waiting area, the five Agents rise at his approach, anxiety plain on their faces.

"I'm not going to sugar-coat this for you," he tells them as soon as the door is closed, seeing the powerful effect his words have on them. "McGee's alive but he thinks he's someone else, some_where_ else. He thinks we're all different people, in some kind of fantasy world. Some people he knows, some he doesn't." He sees there are a thousand questions, no one dares to interrupt.

"Something's happened to his mind; we don't know what, but–"

"Perhaps I can be of assistance, Jethro." Ducky holds up his phone. The five Agents gather close to see the small screen, difficult though this is, as Ducky activates the video. Those who cannot see clearly past Ziva hear it with merciless clarity. Upon it they strain to watch the tiny image of their friend kneeling on one knee before Gibbs and Shepherd. Even subservient there is definite haughty pride that flows through in his posture and words. He wears the bandage that encircles his head as though it were a crown.

"I am Greagoir Daibhidh Cearbhall, Lord of the Elves that reside beyond the river Tygren, in the land of Dubhrein, who has answered your Majesties' Summons for aid."

Intense shock flares through them. None of them want to believe the evidence of their own eyes.

x

The video plays out before them with merciless clarity, the evidence of a mad sojourn into a fantasy world. When it ends, Ziva is the first to find her voice and she has only one loud question for Ducky. "What the _Hell_ happened?"

It's clear to them that the hours of tense waiting have taken their toll on her - on them all. "The nearest Dr. Sullivan and I can determine," he tells her with deep sympathy, "is that Timothy suffered a shock to his mind when he struck his head and it has led him into this … this fictional landscape–"

"All right," she nearly shouts, "how do we snap him _back_?" He tries to formulate a gentle answer, but for too long. "_WELL_?" Her voice rises with her heat. "You have taken all those _Courses_ in Forensic Psychology so you can understand the mind of a killer. How about using them to understand the mind of your _friend_?"

"_Enough_!" Gibbs won't let her emotions lead her to say things they will all regret. That is not helping McGee. "We're going to find out just what this fantasy world means, who's in it and what's going on, _then_ we'll work on snapping him back."

"Jethro," Ducky tries to make his friend see reason, "it may not be that easy. You know what you went through, this is a different kind of retreat–"

Ziva is in his face in an instant. "Tim does not _retrea_–!"

Gibbs grabs her arm, silences her. "Sit down. _A__ll_ of you - while I _tell_ you what we're going to do." They all obey the force of his command, leaving only Jennifer, Ducky and himself standing.

x

"Now, apparently whatever is going to happen will happen at midnight on 'the night of the dark moon', whenever that is–"

"Tuesday night," Michelle cuts in softly. Everyone looks at her. "It's a major Wiccan feast," she explains defensively.

"Okay," Gibbs resumes command of the conference, glancing at his watch. "We have sixty plus hours. We need to know what's going on. When he wrote 'Deep Six' we were all in it. Now he sees Shepherd and I as Queen and King and Ducky as the Court Physician. I'm bringing you in one at a time. Let him identify you - go along with _anything_ he says and try to pull clues out of this fantasy. Let's put it all together."

"How can we be sure he'll know all of us?" DiNozzo asks.

"He will know _me_," Ziva declares, rising and stepping forward, determined to see him first.

"It is possible, my dear," Ducky cautions her gently, "that he will not. You must prepare yourself for that. Whomever he is in his mind, he is not Timothy McGee."

"He - will - know - _me_!"

xx

Shepherd and Ducky are in the hospital room, laying the groundwork as best they can with the Elf Lord. Standing beside Gibbs outside the door to McGee's room, the rest of the team waiting behind her, Ziva prepares herself. "Sorry I got off hand," she says quietly.

DiNozzo is about to correct her but cuts himself off. "This'll be rough on all of us."

"I will get under it," she declares, reaching for the knob before she can reconsider. Gibbs blocks her hand.

"Remember, whatever happens, just keep calm - _all _of you." His message is primarily for Ziva; who of all of them has a greater emotional tie to the man.

"I am always calm," she assures him, pushes past his hand and turns the knob.

When she enters the room with him, Ducky, Shepherd and the middle-aged man from the camera video who had been identified as 'the Neurologist' are gathered about the bed upon which Tim sits. As soon as he sees her he's off the bed, takes a step to her.

"Muirne, how comes it you _live_? How did you survive the battle - and where have you _been_ these hours past? Have you learned why and how we are back at the castle?" Ziva stares at him, unable to answer. "Come, girl, do not stand there like a lout - _time_ is running out! Must we begin the hazardous and hard fought journey all over again?"

Ziva is too astonished to answer. His tone is less surprise as command. In lordly manner he demands answers but she barely understands the questions. Fortunately, Gibbs is prepared.

"Do not answer him," he commands haughtily. "I will know how well his mind works before he hears the answer."

"As you Command, Sire," Tim says, properly chastised but not flinching an inch.

"Who is she?"

"Sire, she is my subject and companion on this Quest, Muirne Cainneach Sorcha, greatest Armsmaiden and swordskill of all the Elves of Dubhrein."

"Describe her." He wants to know if he sees her as herself or through the eyes of his imagination. Tim seems surprised by the command, but renders a good description of the woman, with the exception of her pointed ears 'rather than the rounded ones of menkind'. She wears a leather jerkin and breeches, is armed with a sword in a sheath down the middle of her back and a dagger at her right hip.

"Wait here, the test is not complete." He turns to Ziva. "You will answer no question."

"Yes, your Majesty," she humbly complies.

x

Michelle enters at Gibbs' signal. "Know her?"

Tim smiles. "Of course I do. Una Eilidh Nimah, the Queen's lovely handmaiden. How goes it with you, girl? Have you exhausted our beloved Counselor Aylfryd?" Michelle doesn't have a clue how to answer the odd question. "Come, come, girl, it is not seemly to think you would hide things from his Lord. Since last we were here he has spoken of naught else but you. Had I not brought him on this sojourn I fear he would have pined away to nothing for want of your luscious presence."

It's not long a guess for Gibbs to beckon Jimmy Palmer in next. Tim greets him with satisfied pleasure, not at all surprised to see him in the castle rather than back from 'the Quest'. "Who is he?"

"Your Majesty, I would have to be wounded indeed not to know my friend and Counselor Aylfryd Cuidightheach Ceallair." Tim goes to him, clasps his shoulders heartily. "Well, Aylfryd, was this journey everything you _hoped_ for?"

"I - I guess so?" Jimmy replies vaguely.

Tim glances for an instant at 'Una' before returning his attention to 'Aylfryd', "So tell your Lord, have you yet planted in her lush and fertile field seed to produce one worthy to grace the land of Dubhrein?" Jimmy's mouth falls open. Michelle blushes deeply. "Come, did you think to keep your love _secret_ after decrying it through the hills of our green land for lo these many moons?"

"I - I don't know…."

"Its obvious you remember them," Gibbs declares, cutting off any further male bonding at Michelle's expense. He does consider it very significant, however, that McGee engages in such outrageous talk with the subject of their discussion barely four feet away.

x

Only Abby and Tony remain and Gibbs feels a bit apprehensive about introducing Abby into this colorful mix. She and he have long maintained something of a 'Father/Daughter' relationship but the relationship she'd had with McGee from the beginning had never been that of siblings. If she represents the kidnapped Princess, then for her to walk into the room could so disrupt Tim's world view that they might well make things worse.

It does, however, have to be tried. They need information if there is any hope of bringing Tim back from wherever this madness has sent him.

Hiding his apprehension, he calls her in. But when Tim sees her, satisfied understanding comes into his eyes.

"Aislinn Catradine Gormlaith. I am not likely to forget this Seer, Mystic and powerful Mage. Now I understand. It was _you _who returned us to the castle. But why did you do it? Muirne and I were on the verge of breaching the walls of the castle of Dubhshlaine and freeing the Princess. Why did you return us?"

Gibbs is about to cut in but Abby's answer is appropriately haughty. "I had my reason for casting my spell - and I shall reveal it at the _proper _moment."

"Of course, oh great Mage," the Elf Lord defers to the Mystic.

One angers a Magician at one's peril.

x

Gibbs is relieved that someone is quick on his or her feet – not that he would have expected any less of the 'Mysterious of the Dark'. He opens the door one last time, admitting DiNozzo.

"Hey, buddy," Tony asks solicitously, "do you know me?"

Tim's face becomes a mask of savage fury. He charges DiNozzo, "_Varlet_!" he cries, locking his hands about the startled Agent's throat. His charge dives DiNozzo back until they slam into the wall. His hands dig into Tony's neck. "_Monstrous Demon_!" he cries hatefully, strangling the startled man, "_what have you done with her_?"

x

Astounded, the men and women struggle to pry the furious Elf's hands from Tony's throat. They cannot break his mad grip! In the mêlée no one wants to hurt Tim worse then he has already been. Tony's face turns red, he gags for breath and no combined effort can pry Tim's hands loose. Gibbs, the only one confident he can actually break the grip without injury, is to the back of the throng, Lee the closest.

As they struggle, Tim goes limp, sags to the floor. Michelle's hands are locked to either side of his neck, following him down as they ease him to the floor. Tony is left gasping, supported by Ducky. They are the only ones still standing.

"I'm all right," he wheezes, more astonished than hurt. He looks down at the others, particularly to Michelle cradling Tim's head in her lap. "Nice nerve pinch, Probette. Thanks."

"It wasn't a '_Nerve Pinch_'," she tells him tersely, certain that even in the chaos he should have recognized the difference. "It was a Sleeper Hold."

"I didn't know you were into wrestling."

"I'm not. Jimmy is."

But even in their stress, she leaves just enough ambiguity to convey more than just that answer. Jimmy looks at her apprehensively, but no one notices or cares.

x

"Let's get him back on the bed," Jon Sullivan directs. Gibbs, Jimmy and Ducky lift the quiescent Agent back onto the bed, but they're outraged when Sullivan begins securing leather straps across his body.

"What do you think you're doing?" Gibbs demands.

"I _told_ you, Dr, Mallard, this is a mistake," the Neurologist forcefully reminds his colleague. "Agent McGee's fixation is such that he could turn violent at any instant. You _knew_ that and yet you allowed this – this _experiment_ to proceed."

"What are you saying, Doctor?" Shepherd demands, putting all their thoughts into words.

Finding the attempt to get through to a fellow medical man useless, he turns to the boss. "This man requires proper treatment for his condition, not this parade of characters from a fantasy world."

"What sort of proper treatment?"

"Psychoanalysis, observation and a careful regimen of treatment–"

"Commitment?" DiNozzo asks, knowing it's what everyone is thinking.

"Possibly." He turns back to Shepherd. "Certainly in his present state he is a danger to himself as well as others. He almost murdered your friend."

"I think there's a better way." Gibbs says.

"Oh, you do, do you, 'doctor'? And just where did you get your degree?"

"That's _enough_, all of you." Ducky's voice is low but cuts through them like a titanium chisel. He turns to all save Gibbs and Shepherd. "Would you please excuse us?"

xx

For fifteen tense minutes DiNozzo, David, Sciuto, Lee and Palmer wait outside the door, the ladies sitting on the bench with DiNozzo and Palmer as unintentional bookends. Not one of them makes a sound for fear of missing a word that might filter through the door. It is a very good door however, only a few words come through. Those are the ones raised in anger and they're usually Gibbs', frequently cut off, perhaps in deference to the unconscious Agent.

"How long does a sleeper hold last?" DiNozzo asks quietly.

"About four minutes," Palmer returns. The implication is clear: either Tim is awake by now and participating in the discussion or he is sedated.

They wait longer, and longer … and longer still.

Finally, when the tension becomes unbearable the door flies inward and Gibbs stalks out, followed a moment later by Shepherd and Ducky. One look on the grim face of their leader and they all know how well the conversation went.

The five are on their feet, facing what feels like a tribunal across the hall, Gibbs in the center, Ducky on his right. The former Marine is so angry it gives Jennifer a chance to begin more calmly.

"The recommendation of Agent McGee's doctor is that he be held over for observation and evaluation of his condition, and that a course of treatment be formulated based on that evaluation. They are going to contact Sarah McGee, his sister, as next-of-kin. She would be enabled to act on his behalf."

"To sign the papers putting him in the loony-bin," DiNozzo says.

"_Agent DiNozzo_–"

But Gibbs cuts off her reprimand. "No, let's call it what it is. Yes, DiNozzo, that's exactly what it might come down to."

"What time are we talking about?"

"Dr. Sullivan," Ducky tells them gravely, "estimates at this point some five to eight–"

"Weeks?" Ziva breaks in.

"Years."

x

"No way!" DiNozzo declares for them all.

"There is an alternative treatment considered."

"We'll take it!"

"_Please_, Anthony, hear me out," Ducky appeals. "Jethro here proposes that we–"

"We're gonna take him through this scenario right to its conclusion, play out his drama and hope that when its over we can get him back."

"How risky is that?" DiNozzo asks Ducky.

"It is _very_ risky, Anthony. In _some _of the cases where that method was employed it resulted in the breaking of the fantasy fixation and the recovery of the patient. In others, it only made the situation worse. Not only was the patient locked into the fantasy, making it harder to free him, but the dangers involved are magnified immensely."

"What can we do?"

"This is too complete," Gibbs declares, "too detailed. He didn't just create this out of thin air within the past hour. I think we've walked into one of his books."

"We did," Tony declares, snaring their attentions. "He told me this morning he's writing a fantasy book."

"If it is one this book, we're in it and so are the clues we need to bring him out of it again. DiNozzo, David, Lee, turn his apartment upside down. _Find_ it!"

"But why?" Abby asks. "Why would he fixate on this?"

Ducky shakes his head. "There are a number of reasons, but resolving the problem may well depend upon determining which one it is." He doesn't want to dwell on the already rejected point that 'bringing him out of it' could well be the work of weeks or months - even years. No one wants to hear that and he doesn't with to sap confidence, not even his own.

x

"Director," Michelle asks, "do you want the legal view on this?" Her tone says she'd rather bite off her own tongue, but she has to say it.

"Yes I do."

"Legally, unless Agent McGee signed a waiver authorizing NCIS to act on his behalf in a life-threatening situation - and I'm not sure if such a document would even stand up in this case since his life is not at risk - then we have no authority to do anything. Neither does the hospital have jurisdiction to commit him without authorization. As next-of-kin, the decision - either way - would be his sister's. If she sides with Dr. Sullivan and signs the necessary papers, then it is out of our hands."

"If we can convince her to side with us," Gibbs counters, "then you know what my plan is. But I can't do it without all of you. If you're with me, say so. If you're not, this is your chance to back out."

"I want Tim back," Ziva declares. Abby puts up her hand. One by one everyone's hands go up - all except Ducky's.

"Abby, she'll be at the college. You're with me; we're going to get her; bring her here."

"Boss?" DiNozzo tries to cut in.

Abby also raises her protest. "Gibbs, are you sure you want her brought _here_?" To her, it is best to keep Sarah far away.

"We have to talk to her _before _they do. They're already going to make the call. I don't want them to reach her."

x

"Has anyone considered that we're one player short?" Gibbs comes to a halt at Abby's words.

"What do you mean?"

"We all have our parts to play, but we still haven't found the Princess." No one hazards a guess that the part has not been cast, that they will not meet her, that she is dead. McGee's is a Hero story, and the Hero _always_ rescues the Princess. "At first, when I found out Ziva wasn't the Princess, I thought it might be me, but he already had a role for me."

"Those names are all Celtic in origin," Ducky points out.

"I can't even pronounce them."

"You'll have to do more than pronounce them, DiNozzo, you'll have to answer to them if we're going to pull this off."

"Boss, are you really planning to play along with this ... story?" he has clearly toned down the adjective.

"You got a better plan, now's the time."

"Psychotherapy–"

"could take months if it works. And after what we've been through lately are you going to trust those guys?" To that there can be no answer. "I need McGee now - he has work to do."

That is the limit of the personal motivation Gibbs is willing to voice.

x

"If we are to do this," Ducky says firmly, regaining the conversation, "let us remember that there _is_ a danger here. These narratives are set within a violent framework. Problems are not solved through negotiation or in the courts, but at the point of a sword. We have already seen that Anthony is cast in the role of the Villain who has kidnapped the Princess and Timothy is the Hero who must save her."

"Certainly from a fate worse than death, if she's with Tony," Abby quips. She wanted to ease the tension – and fails spectacularly.

"As I was _saying_," Ducky recaptures their attention sharply, "we have yet to identify the Princess. She will play a crucial role in this situation."

"Not one of us. Who could it be?"

Ducky realizes it's an indication of the worry Gibbs is hiding that he has missed it. "If I were casting the role of a Celtic – read _Irish_ – Princess, I know who I would choose."

Gibbs restrains himself from striking the back of his own head when the obvious is pointed out to him so directly. He pulls out his phone, punches in the number for St. Mary the Virgin Church.

"Jethro, what are you going to tell her?" Jenny asks.

"Everything it will take to get McGee back."

"Then there is an even _greater_ danger you must first recognize," Ducky points out, not to anyone's pleasure, halting Gibbs in mid-keystroke. He slaps the phone closed.

x

"Greater than my being choked to death or split in two?" DiNozzo demands.

"I'm afraid so. You see, in Timothy's mind _that_ world he has fashioned is reality, we merely reside in it. But the Heroic Myth usually ends in one of two ways: the death of the Villain – or that of the Hero."

"Wait a minute," Gibbs breaks in. This isn't part of his plan, "Are you saying McGee might not come back at the end of the story - that he could _die_?"

"That is why this method of treatment is so universally frowned upon. Unless he successfully frees the Princess - and does not kill Agent DiNozzo in their inevitable confrontation - then yes, this battle is to the death."

"I'm not using a sword on the Probie!" DiNozzo swears.

"You may not have to - in our reality. In his, if he fails, Greagoir Daibhidh Cearbhall could very well die.

"And he will take Timothy McGee with him."


	4. Swords

Chapter Four  
Swords

"No. No! NO! Absolutely _NOT_!" Sarah McGee's furious protests blast through the once tranquil Waiting Room. She ignores the numerous people who are startled by her yell. "You people are out of _your_ minds!"

The young brunette turns her rage on Mallard. "There is no _way_ I'm going to agree to this! You can tell them to take that paper and shove it high up their–!"

"Miss McGee," Ducky appeals, trying to calm her, "there is another alternative. It is potentially dangerous but, if it succeeds, we might have Timothy back with us."

"What is it?"

"If you will please sit down, I'll try to explain." He glances at Shepherd, Gibbs, Sciuto and Palmer, who withdraw to the opposite side of the room, finding seats among those anxiously waiting for word of their loved ones. When the young brunette is seated, the room is again quiet.

xxx

Ziva leads the way to Tim McGee's apartment door and pulls his key out of the pocket of her pants. She could have used her own key but having his allows her to let DiNozzo, Lee and herself in without having to refuse to answer any questions.

The door opens on a living room so large it must be arbitrarily divided into usable spaces through the use of bookshelves. These shelves hold books as well as his vast collection of vintage vinyl jazz recordings. The most prominent feature in the room is the desk which contains his manual typewriter and collection of accoutrements such as his tobacco-less pipe and tweed jacket with patched elbows; his mystery writing regalia.

For a person who spends most of his working time solving real life mysteries with the most advanced computers, his affectation of restricting his writing to an antique manual typewriter might seem out of character. Except, that is, to those who know him well.

"He said he was working early this morning when Gibbs called us." DiNozzo tells the two women with him as they surround the desk which faces into the room, backed by his collection of memorabilia. Obviously McGee had had no time for his usual meticulous securement of his pages and props; there is a half filled paper in his typewriter, a neat, nearly inch high stack of typed pages on one side of it and a stack of virgin white on the other.

On the corner of the desk is a book, positioned perfectly so that the edges are aligned flush with the edge of the desk. There is a yellow sticky-note attached to it with a hand written reminder; 'Forget this'. Michelle peals off the paper, exposes the title. "Mazes and Monsters, by Rona Jaffe."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that, Tom Hanks, 1982, one of the first D&D stories." DiNozzo enthuses.

"He obviously wants to remind himself of the risk of committing accidental plagiarism."

"The more I think of this," Lee says, covering it up again, "the more I think Jaffe got it right."

"In what way?" Ziva asks.

Michelle is about to answer until she recalls that the protagonist of this novel, also trapped in a role-playing fantasy environment, had not fared well at all. "Never mind. It's over 25 years old and can't help us."

x

On a table set in front of the desk, purposely constantly in sight, sit two swords on a dual wooden display. Typically for McGee, all three items still have the tags attached. The lower sword is unpolished silver festooned with skulls; one on the pommel on each side, one on either side of the guard, two on each side of the mouth of the black scabbard which rests upon the table, eight skulls in all. The guard is three sets of enlarging sinister bat's wings. Just to look at it is to know that this sword is wielded by an evil man.

Above it rests a gleaming blade of mirror-polished silver, the guard ornate silver inlayed with six round golden emblems, three to a side, the largest ones in the middle with half-size ones in the center of each side, while at each end of the rounded guard are the faces of golden roaring lions. The gripe is inlayed between the gold frames with four lengths of bright red velvet. The pommel is a round disk of silver inlayed with disks of gold. On closer examination the gold disks are all found to contain Masonic symbolism, particularly the largest disks in the middle of the guard, which feature golden Square and Compasses surrounding trowels.

If the lower blade is intended to evoke fear or dread, the upper one is a Hero's weapon.

x

"I thought McGeek said he doesn't buy these things," Tony says, thinking back to the incident with Jack Carson and the unrepentant scientist's macabre collection.

"_Then_ he did not," Ziva confirms, "but he would have bought these for inspiration."

"You never saw them?" He wonders just how many times she's been in this apartment.

"Tim is a very private man. He never gave a hint he was working on this sort of novel." Ziva tries to restrain an affronted tone. "If I had had a clue he was working on this I would have said so immediately."

When DiNozzo had revealed the conversation he'd had with McGee, Gibbs had asked Ducky to look into the chance that the last thing McGee had been thinking of had been the catalyst that had set the stage for his fixation.

"All right, I told you I was sorry! How could I know that talking about this 'S&S' crap would make it the last thing he was focused on and start this whole–"

Ziva slams her fists down on the table and turns on him, but in the last instant she shuts herself up. No matter how upset she is, verbally venting her spleen will do little more good than would pounding her partner - none at all.

She buries the thought, turns back to the table, pretends the rage had never taken her. "However, the lower sword BudK dot com sells as 'Winged Skull', the upper one is called 'Classic Mason'."

"Wait a minute; you never saw these swords in your life and you just happen to know their names?"

"I do not 'happen to know' anything, Tony. He was researching fantasy weapons during the case involving Ronald Adolphus. I just recall the names of a couple." DiNozzo had forgotten her memory. As she had once pointed out, those who fail to observe do not last long, and she had not been talking of termination from an Agency. "Besides that, it is here on the labels." She tries not to smirk at DiNozzo's realization. This case has all of their nerves on edge.

"Well, it's obvious whose sword is whose," Lee points out.

"Yep," Tony agrees, hefting the golden and bright silver one, impressed with its balance and its respectable weight. Light gleams off it, glints on its sharp edges, more so when Ziva smoothly plucks it out of his hand and points emphatically to the other.

"That one is yours, 'Dubhshlaine', and I really suggest you learn how to handle it, because if Tim comes against you with _this _sword he is going to kill you."

x

Tony glares at her, but it is Lee who speaks first.

"Sir, Ma'am, I think I found something." She had actually 'found something' in the first second of looking, before the Agents had started carping at each other. She finally gave up waiting for them to notice, settles for handing Ziva the second of the neatly stacked papers beside the typewriter.

The paper is headed 'Dramatis Personae', and contains a list of their own names; those of their counterparts which Tony determines not to even try to pronounce, and a brief thumbnail sketch of the characters of each. "Gibbs is going to love this;" Tony predicts with relish, "Probie-Wan Kenobi sees him and Jenny old enough to have a grown daughter - O'Mallory."

"Hardly surprising, he is not likely to cast her as a child, or you would not have kidnapped her to," she reads from the paper, "'possess the kingdom by impregnating her with an heir on the night of the dark of the moon'." She looks up at him, unable to repress a grin. "No wonder he wants to kill you."

"Heh heh, very funny." He snatches the paper from her with a weird sense of déjà vu. It is bad enough when they had gone through such a period of discovery when they found copies of 'Deep Six'. "'You' are a woman more deadly than you are beautiful, a walking arsenal, none of which tools you need to slay a man on the field or in your bed."

"Well, at least he paints me true to life. How about you?"

"Cormac Ciardha Dubhshlaine is a so–" is as far as he gets, reading in silence.

She snatches the paper out of his hand. "Come on, Tony, share the glory," she finds his name. "'Cormac Ciardha Dubhshlaine is a soulless monster, a butcher who will stab a man or woman in the back if he feels it will serve his goals. Honorless and sadistic, unable to obtain power over innocent people by merit, he will wrest it through the rape of a helpless virgin'."

The paper in her hand suddenly feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. She lowers it and her heart is stabbed as she sees the effect of the words on the man. "Tony, this is just hyperbole, guides to writing a stor–"

He cuts her off sharply, his carefully restrained words more powerful than a shout. "Can we just find out how the thing's supposed to end?"

x

Ziva, knowing there is no help here, picks up the stack of papers, riffles through them, skims quickly, scans a few words on each sheet. "Mairenn is kidnapped, ransom, surrender the kingdom by the dark of the moon; legion assembled, they are defeated; Anrai and Filelma send for Cearbhall and Sorcha – Tim and I – from across the sea. Seems he is not just an Elf, I am an Elf too, and so is Palmer - or Ceallair - but he is also the greatest swordsman on the planet, at least among the Elves. Palmer and you," she looks up at Michelle, "that is Ceallair and Nimah, the Queen's handmaiden, have a love scene that – _whoa_, this is not going into the Children's aisle!"

"Get _on _with it," DiNozzo demands tightly.

Ziva needs no urging, she is already tense enough reading the scenario they are going to have to live if they want Tim back. "Cearbhall and Sorcha start out on the Quest - oh, Cearbhall may be the greatest swordsman in the world but he and Dubhshlaine are pretty evenly matched, so evenly Cearbhall doubts he will win and says so to Sorcha. He really has his doubts about walking away from this one, so he made King Anrai and Queen Filelma sweeten the pot; does not say how here." She does not go back to the scene where the deal is struck, it is not important to her.

"There is a battle - a battle - a battle - an attempted assassination in the forest and a battle. They reach Dubhshlaine's castle and there is a battle on the front lawn - fifty men - twenty five to one; impressive odds. We win. Oh, Sorcha is wounded - crap- and cannot fight anymore but we make it into the castle. We get to the Great Hall. Dubhshlaine has Mairenn chained to the wall. Cearbhall demands Dubhshlaine release Mairenn but he refuses - what language! Though Cearbhall makes an impressive show he is tired – of course he is tired, he and I just beat fifty men – and he really doubts he can take Dubhshlaine who is fresh and is known to cheat. There is a booby-trap Cearbhall narrowly avoids. They cross swords again, lots of action and ringing of steel. Dubhshlaine draws first blood, the battle rages throughout the hall. Dubhshlaine scores another hit, Cearbhall is weakening, Dubhshlaine moves in for the kill–" She finishes the last page, looks to the sheet in the typewriter and gasps. "It is not finished!" She slaps the typewriter hard enough to shake the table. "It is not Finished!"

Tony reaches out to her, "Hey Zeev..."

She whirls on him, her eyes blazing, "Tony, it is not _Finished_!"

"Then it's up to us to finish it," he reminds her, "and make sure it comes out right." He pulls the last sheet from the typewriter as Lee takes the swords.

xxx

Using their Federal Agent authority, they have set up a base of operations in an unused office on the second floor. It is there that Tony, Ziva and Michelle make their reports to Gibbs and Jennifer, turning over the swords and all the papers from Tim's desk. Gibbs directs Lee to find a Xerox machine and start making copies for everyone. When she leaves, Ducky enters the room.

"How is Tim?" Ziva asks anxiously. She had hated being so far away for so long.

"Still resting. The sedative they gave him should keep him asleep for several more hours."

"Reverend O'Mallory should arrive soon," DiNozzo points out, "I'll go out front and meet her; escort her up."

When he is gone, Ziva turns to Mallard. "Ducky, could Tim actually die?"

He knows she longs for him to say 'oh no, my dear, he will be fine'. "I won't lie to you, Ziva; the mind is a powerful thing. I have conducted autopsies upon perfectly sound men and women who died for no other reason than that they believed they would die. Conversely, however, I have known people who have lived for years with deadly diseases or survived cataclysmic wounds all because they believed they would and fought for life. In the end, it must all come down to the choice Timothy makes."

Ziva looks to the three, unable to endure it any longer. She leaves the room, doesn't look back at them, doesn't want to seem to be fleeing but unable to stay. She doesn't know where she's going, she just wants to be alone.

x

Down the hall, she sees Tony DiNozzo talking with a woman at the Nurse's station and feels the explosion decimate her. She stalks up the corridor to him, tries very hard to keep from reaching behind her for the knife in the sheath under her shirt.

Tony, sees her coming and turns to her, "Jeanne, you remember Zi–"

"This is _your fault_!" she accuses furiously. "You drove him to this with your damned endless taunting! Tim is a great writer and you drove him out of his - his mind - because you never shut the Hell UP! I hope he splits your head open! If the only way to get him back is for him to kill you then I will give him the _knife_!"

He reaches out, wanting to calm her, but she steps back as though his hand were some loathsome tentacle. "Do not touch me! Do not _ever_ touch me! We could lose Tim and _you _drove him to this! You always have to be such a self-centered opinionated _bastard_! WhyTony? Why must you always do this?" Her voice rises with her red-faced fury. She clenches her hands into tight fists, trembling with incendiary rage as her words cut through the long corridor, turning heads dozens of yards away. "You give us no peace! I never know when you walk in in the morning what inane, chauvinistic drivel you are going to start spouting! You are always going on about your women, your cars, your movies, your conquests, your opinions; every day, day in and day out! I am sick to_ death _of working with an opinionated, manipulative, insensitive _Child_! For God's sake, _when are you going to GROW UP_?"

She turns and storms away, hoping he will be suicidal enough to follow.

x

Tony stands staring, her words still battering him. "She's right," he says quietly. "She's right." He feels Jeanne's hand take his but does not turn to her. Finally she comes around him. "This is my fault."

The pain on his face tears at her heart "Did you intend to push him into that hole? Did you know it was there?"

"No. I tried to–"

"- save his life. The rest was an accident. It wasn't your _fault_."

"But all the rest - that _is_ my fault."

xxx

Jimmy Palmer stands at the hospital entrance, needing a breath of air outside the confining structure with its memories and guilt. He can't endure the memory of that horrible morning when, to save the life of Megan Wood, he had shot George Franklin in the back and killed him. The guilt of that mad morning remains with him every second since. Only the love of a special woman had helped him through the nightmare that still stabs at his conscience. He had determined never to set foot here again, but now he ….

His thoughts are derailed when he sees a familiar redheaded woman stride across the parking lot toward him. The clothing she wears might seem ordinary - a calf length black skirt and a light blue short sleeved shirt which buttons up the back, but what makes her summer uniform distinctive is that the shirt's collar is a stiff, inch-high white band that encircles her throat.

She hurries across the lot, not running or even looking as anxious as he would expect, but her stride eats up the distance and she is with him in moments.

"Hello, Mr. Palmer," Reverend Siobhan O'Mallory greets him quietly, her thick Irish brogue particularly strong in her tense concern. "The office gave me the message - how is he?"

"Asleep – last I heard. I'll take you to the office we've set up as a headquarters," he starts into the building, knowing she is not going to want any delay.

"Enkiss set up their own Headquarters here?" she asks as they pass through the sliding glass doors. She had pictured a lot of tense Agents waiting for word on one of their own, but this is definitely a step further than she expected. "Why?"

"It's really complicated. I'm not the best one to explain." They cross the lobby, ignore the women at the round Information desk in its center, and Jimmy presses the button for an elevator.

"Our Secretary told me he was in an accident. How bad is it?" she asks as they board the car.

"He hit his head. The doctor says–"

"Will he _live_?"

The sharpness of the demand startles him. "Yes."

She visibly sags in relief, something Jimmy is sure she wouldn't do were they not the only ones in the car. She crosses herself in silent thanksgiving. The doors open on the second floor and he allows her to exit first, indicates they are to go left. Sensing she would rather run down the corridor were she not holding herself in careful check and if she knew the room - her public manner masks her inner anxiety - he wastes not a moment in guiding her down the long corridor. He opens the door to the commandeered office.

x

Jenny Shepherd is seated at the desk directly across from the door, Leroy Gibbs in a chair to her left, Abby Sciuto, Ziva David, Ducky Mallard and Michelle Lee in surrounding chairs. The conference has been interrupted by their arrival. Each of them has a thick sheaf of papers in hand or close by. Siobhan acknowledges the others but her attention is on Shepherd as she crosses the room to the desk. "Our Secretary told me he was in an accident. How is he?"

x

Having gotten to know the woman well, Jennifer knows that, like herself, Siobhan needs as complete answer in as few words as possible. She gives her a capsule version of the facts. Off to the side Gibbs gives Palmer a silent signal and the man leaves. By the time Shepherd is done with the short explanation, the door opens gain and DiNozzo and Palmer enter.

When the explanation, including Gibbs plan for restoring their friend, concludes, Siobhan stands silently, attempting to absorb the fantastic tale. "Dear God," she whispers, striving to contain her distress as she had hidden her anxiety. Knowing she is doing poorly, she gives up and turns to Gibbs. "Are you sure you can do this?"

Though the question was put to Gibbs, it is Ducky who rises and offers his chair to the woman. Gibbs defers to his friend. "I shall not minimize the danger," Ducky tells her with compassionate gentleness as she settles herself, looking up at him with emerald eyes that can never mask the depth of her distress. "The method has been used with some success but it depends upon our understanding as much of the situation as possible. The hospital authorities, who feel a more traditional form of treatment is best, do not support us and have stated that if we make Timothy's situation worse the fault lies completely with ourselves. Contrasting a treatment that could take years we have, with the agreement of his sister as next-of-kin, elected to try this plan."

Siobhan turns to Gibbs. For as little as she knows these people, she knows the forcefulness of the plan's proposer. "Do you believe this will _work_?" Her question is just one notch short of a demand.

"I think it has a chance, our best one"

"And if it fails?"

He won't insult her by trying to sugar-coat it, "McGee could die."

x

Siobhan rises, so appalled she cannot speak, cannot find the words to express her feelings. She looks at the Agents assembled about her, seeking someone who will help her contest this mad scheme. but she sees their decisions in their eyes. She tries to think of something to say to express her outrage, her disbelief, something that will make a difference to these people, a difference in a decision already made. But if what Timmy has told her about them over these past months is a true picture of them, there's nothing she can say.

Slowly she sinks back into the chair, but it is still a long moment before she can speak. When she can, her tone is mingled with defeat and acceptance of the inevitable. "What can I do?"

"You understand," Ducky continues gently, "why we cannot let you see him."

She nods resignedly, holding back thoughts best left unsaid, thoughts that do no justice to her station. But then an idea comes to her: she can put her own solution to their problem. "If I'm his - that is Agent DiNozzo's - prisoner, why don't I just escape?"

"I wish it were that easy, my dear," Ducky declines. "Right now we are playing to an established scenario, even if it is incomplete, and in it you do not escape. The Hero rescues you. There is no way to guess what will happen if you miraculously show up at 'your father's castle', or if you convince Cormac Ciardha Dubhshlaine to release you. We may never work out how to successfully extricate Timothy from this illusion. Right now we're heading toward a known objective. We do not want to shock him."

"_We_ don't want to shock_ him_?" Tony demands incredulously.

Ducky turns to the man by the door. "No, Anthony, we do _not_. In his mind the story ends–"

"– when he kills me."

"Well," Ducky temporizes, "granted this is a complicated and not particularly pleasant scenario, but we will have to find a way of bringing him back while assuring that both survive."

"Given the choice..." Ziva begins speculatively.

"Do you really want me dead, Ziva?"

She looks at him, but is unable to say it. Despite her anger, she cannot say she wants him dead. She just wants what they all want: Tim McGee restored to them alive and whole - - - and without Tony DiNozzo dead too.

x

"It would be helpful if you could read Gaelic," Ducky continues to Siobhan. "We have found a list of all our names and those of their counterparts, but are uncertain of pronunciation."

Gibbs knows from personal experience during the destruction of her former apartment that the Priest is familiar with some of the more colorful terms of that language, but that's some way from–

"I'm fluent in Gaelic, though I don't personally know more than a hundred people here who are;" she smiles at the mild surprise in Ducky's eyes. "My parents wanted me to fit in when we came to America - but the more they tried to make me, the more I clung to my roots, including the _proper_ way to speak."

They now have an insight into why someone raised in Maryland still has so strong a brogue.

Gibbs, seated in the chair beside Jennifer's desk, hands her the top paper from the stack.

"These are not Gaelic names," she announces definitely.

"What?" Gibbs had not been expecting this.

"Well," she amends, "they _are _Gaelic names, but they are all proper, given names. There's not a familial name among them." She looks about, seeing incomprehension on most faces. "Gaelic names, like so many others, went for centuries before being 'standardized', changing every generation. It was always 'someone son of so-and-so' or 'daughter of someone's family'. For instance, now it's 'Timothy son of Gee', which is _Anglicized _from the name meaning 'love', or 'Siobhan of Mallory's family'." She does not care to give any more of a lesson.

"It is as though, rather than going for realism, Timmy selected Irish given names based upon their derivation, their meaning, intending them to be representative of the individual rather than anything else.

"For instance, Agent Gibbs, your assigned name Tighearna Conri Anrai literally translates to 'Lord Master', 'Chief King' and 'Home Ruler'. The name Timmy chose for himself, Greagoir Daibhidh Cearbhall, again translates, literally, to 'Watchful', 'Vigilant', 'Beloved Hacker'."

"Well, that figures." Abby cuts in.

"No, actually hacker in this sense implies 'with a sword'."

"What about the rest of it?" Gibbs wants this completed with no more interruptions, knowing he is not going to get it without being far more forceful.

"Officer David: Muirne Cainneach Sorcha means 'Beloved', 'Comely' and 'Finely Made', 'Radiant'."

"I thought Cearbhall was 'beloved'," Tony interjects.

"This is a feminine version," Siobhan corrects, surprised she has to point it out.

"Keep going," Gibbs directs, declining to cross the room to give DiNozzo a 'wake-up call' in the Priest's presence - unless he does this again.

"Well, Agent Lee, Una Eilidh Nimah means 'Lamb', 'Likely to Elope', 'Beauty and Brightness'. Director Shepherd, Brigid Ailish Filelma means 'Exalted One', 'Noble', 'Ever Good'. Doctor Mallard - sorry, _Ducky_ - your name Fearchar Ceallachan Grada comes out 'Dear Man', 'Bright Headed One', 'Noble'."

"I'm pleased to see he holds me in such high regard."

"Mr. Palmer, your Aylfryd Cuidightheach Ceallair becomes 'Elf Counsel', 'Helper', 'Cellar Worker'."

"Well, I guess that fits," he admits.

"Abby, he calls you Aislinn Catradine Gormlaith; that means 'Dream' or 'Vision', 'Pure', 'Splendid lady'.

"What about yours?" she asks, deeply flattered but not wanting to show it, seeing the look of pain in Ziva's eyes before she closed them.

"He calls me–" she stops sharply and all those who have read the capsule summaries which she does now understand quite well. McGee, in his character of Cearbhall, holds her character in particularly high regard, quite evidently to an embarrassing degree for the Priest. "He - he calls me Mairenn Ceibhfhionn Ciorsdan; that's 'Beloved', 'Fair hair', 'Follower of Christ'. That certainly fits," she admits sotto voce, clearly trying to cover her realization of the character from the thumbnail sketch.

"Sure are a lot of 'beloveds'." DiNozzo quips. Gibbs wants to whack him.

"We - we Irish are a very loving people, Agent DiNozzo," Siobhan says, her voice shaking with emotion she tries her best to quell.

"What does mine come to?"

She rallies enough to push aside her discomfort. "Yours is Cormac Ciar–" she hesitates, stricken now with a different sort of discomfort, going on to read his summary. When she can meet his eyes she is deeply embarrassed.

"Well?"

She really does not want to answer. "I get the sense …" she cannot avoid it and tries to soften it as much as she can, "the sense that Timmy doesn't - well, doesn't care for you very much."

"Why?"

"Well, the context... well, taken _literally_, these are 'Defilement'; 'Dark, black' but heavy with a connotation of 'evil' and 'Dark Challenger', but the depth–" she shuts up, unwilling to say any more. The implications of these words go far beyond their literal meaning, expressing concepts she would never –

Into the uncomfortable silence Ziva confirms: "That would be Tony."

Siobhan is shocked, doubting the woman has any idea what she has just said. Obviously Agent DiNozzo does for he stares at the dark woman for several long seconds, then turns, pulls the door open sharply and leaves the room - followed quickly by Gibbs.

x

"HEY!" the sharp exclamation halts the younger man several feet down the corridor. "We're _working_ here, no one dismissed you." Tony turns around, an expression of unendurable guilt on his face. "What?"

"It's my fault. All of this - it's my fault."

"What are you talking about?" Gibbs demands emphatically, having reached his limit.

"I tease him, I ride him sometimes, but that's just the way I am. I always thought we were friends. Now I've hurt him. It's my fault he's like this. McGee's going to dieand it's my fault."

"You tried to save his life," Gibbs reminds him forcefully. "It's not your fault some _jerk_ laid down a tarp instead of a–"

"'Defilement', 'Dark, black and evil' and 'Dark Challenger'; that's not a friend's opinion. I've been a blind jerk, just going along having my fun and figuring the rest of the world was laughing along. Well, they're not. Ziva was right - why don't I just grow up?"

Gibbs looks at him intently. "Maybe now you will." Tony nods, praying he can in time, resolving that whether his friend lives, or especially if he dies, he will make that change.

"Now let's get back in there and bring McGee back."

x

"What about Dubhshlaine's castle?" Tony asks when he has settled back into the conversation. "Do we go to Ted Vitale? That was a mighty big 'favor' we could call in for him."

Vitale owns an Independent Film Studio on the Washington / Virginia border and might well have the resources to pull off a Castle. The favor was far more than that. While working the Richards case, McGee had run into the Vitales' burning home and had pulled out the unconscious Kimberly Vitale. Ted was ready to give Tim everything he could ask for.

"No," Gibbs denies. "I'd rather not involve that many people. Too many things can go wrong when you get so big."

"Besides," Ziva tells them, "that is the simplest part: he will see what he _wants _to see, just as he saw me in breeches and jerkin, with a sword, dagger and pointed ears. And he has already chosen the setting: Smithsonian Castle." The surprise that follows this conclusion is almost palpable. "I have been reading the descriptions, he had to have visited it in doing his research. Except for a difference in scale - everything is four times as big - it could not be anywhere else."

"That's a public monument. How do you plan to get up a sword fight?" DiNozzo challenges.

"It's only open a few hours a day, when dosuns can give tours," Jimmy points out.

"Getting it closed won't be a problem," Jenny declares, her confidence carrying the moment.

"So that's it? We're really going to do this?"

"Like I said, DiNozzo; you have a better plan, now's the time."

Tony would give anything, literally anything, for burst of inspiration. None comes.

"Then that's it. Go home, bring the copies of this book with you, get plenty of rest and be ready to do this in the morning."


	5. Watch

Chapter Five  
Watch

Evening falls with no gentleness. The Agents have split up to pursue the dictates of their own souls and Jennifer is not surprised to find, an hour after his dismissal, Leroy Jethro Gibbs is sitting behind the desk in the borrowed office. "A penny for your thoughts," she invites, closing the door.

"They're not worth that much."

She crosses the room, sits down in the chair beside the desk. "Talk to me."

Gibbs sits back, and only to her will he allow the stress he is under to peek through the armor of his self-control.

"If McGee were married I'd be following his wife's decisions and judgment. If his sister were an adult rather than a child-woman of barely 17 years I'd do what she thought best." He does not believe a 17-year-old qualified to make such a decision, but doesn't say so aloud. "As his boss and the one responsible for the entire team and their welfare, the decision is mine."

"I'm only concerned that you're taking this decision too much on yourself," she says.

"Ziva, Abby, even O'Mallory all came to me with their opinions. Each of them has something different to say, from O'Mallory's careful restraint through Ziva's volcano, with Abby somewhere in the middle. He seems to bring out the ... something ... in women." Jenny smiles, having known this was going to happen and having her own viewpoint as well. "But when did one of them marry him without my knowing about it?"

"Jethro, you know better than that."

"Then as his boss I'm responsible for him, and if he's not capable of deciding for himself then–"

"You're his boss; but I'm his and yours."

Gibbs sits back, nearly rocked in his seat. She would pull rank over this? "All right, Madam Director," he says quietly, "what's your determination? Do we take Sullivan's advice and talk Sarah McGee into signing those Commitment papers? Robe, pajamas and slippers to shuffle around in in a nice quiet Navy facility? Maybe he'll get someplace close like Bethesda. I've been to their Psycho Ward when we investigated the Jessica Smith case and those few times are enough for me. But he'll be there what, five years, eight? Overly patient, condescending doctors and soft-spoken nurses and medicines in little paper cups every six hours. He can't keep in shape with swordwork but there can be nice long, meaningful talks with Napoleon Bonaparte and Ulysses Grant and we can visit him every Sunday afternoon from two to five–"

"_Damn _it, Jethro!" she stands sharply.

"Rule 38, your case, your lead. You're his Director, you choose. Sullivan's plan or mine?"

She turns, stalks away, but then turns back. "Yours." She yanks out her cell phone, flips it open and presses a combination. "Cynthia, I want 50 Agents on the front lawn of the Smithsonian Castle at 0800. I don't want to drain too many teams, have one from every team, every division and sector. Tell them to dress casually, they're going to get dirty."

She slaps the phone closed, belatedly realizing in her abruptness how much of Gibbs has rubbed off on her.

"This had better work, because if it doesn't–"

"If it doesn't you won't have just one Agent falling on his sword."

xxx

It is dark by the time Michelle Lee steps into her apartment, followed by her fiancé. Jimmy closes and locks the door behind them. She has said nothing in the car, lost in her own thoughts, and when he comes up behind her and puts his arms around her she doesn't move.

"Do you want me to spend the night?" he asks softly. Normally he wouldn't even ask question. They rarely get through either of their front doors without their lips and bodies pressed passionately, but this night is so different.

"I need to be alone," she answers as softly.

"I understand," he releases her, but before he can let go she grasps his hand, turning to him.

"That's not what I meant. I want you to stay, but I need an hour alone - to myself - in my room. Please," she looks up to him, appealing, "wait for me."

"Forever, 'Chelle." As their hands slip apart his fingers touch the silver jeweled ring upon her left hand, emphasizing his commitment.

She steps away from him, goes into her bedroom and firmly closes the door behind her.

x

Part of her, when she catches sight of the clear jewel set into that ring on her hand, remonstrates her that she should not shut him out. It tells her that if they are going to be married she has the obligation, the duty, to share everything with him, but some things are too personal to share. She knows the day is coming when she will, when she must, but years of careful privacy are not easy to break.

At the window, she sets her air conditioner against the warmth of the room. Then, from her closet, she removes a jade velvet cloak, draws it about her shoulders, reaches through the volumous sleeves and closes the dozen ornate fasteners. It is long enough to reach the floor - not that she is particularly tall - and the hood would almost completely obscure her vision save for directly ahead if she were to draw it up. The room is still too warm for that. It is, in fact, still too warm for the cloak, but as she had observed to Jimmy weeks ago, even though undressing before putting on the cloak would be more comfortable, she doesn't do Skyclad.

x

Opening a low bookcase, she bends and removes a carved wooden box. The ornate case contains a collection of private and powerful implements. She puts it on the bed. Closing the bookcase, she tugs it along the floor until it is close enough to the center of the bedroom and facing East. She opens the box upon the bed and removes from the top a large purple cloth upon which is inscribed, in metallic silver, a large circle exactly the width of the bookcase, within which is a silver five pointed star. This she spreads upon the case and removes in turn from the box several colored and scented candles in glass, selecting the ones she will need.

To these she adds two metal bowls, three white silken cords of carefully measured lengths, two cruets and a small covered bowl of salt, two small glass bottles of wine and water, several cones of incense, wooden matches and a black handled silver knife.

x

Setting the implements precisely in their proper places upon the black cloth, she takes the knife over to the Eastern corner of the room, closest to her bed. Nodding respectfully to the Spirits of the North, she turns East and extends the blade head high and draws it downward and to her left, feeling the power resonate through the Chakras of her body, down her arm, out her hand through the Athame to its point. She draws a bright white line from her furthest lower left upward right to shoulder height, then left, carefully inscribing a five pointed star.

"Blessed Be ye Spirits of Earth, of Fire, of Water and of Air," she whispers. "Blessed Be ye Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, ye four great Spirits. Blessed Be She who is Mother of All, clad in pearl and light. Blessed Be Venus, Bringer of Love and Guide of Women. Blessed Be ye Spirits of the East."

Concentrating upon the images she can see in her imagination, she draws upon the power she can feel all about her. Within the Star, in the inverted pentagonal field visible to her soul and mind's eye, she draws a vertical line, then a short horizontal one parallel and just below the upper side of the pentagon, forming a glowing Cross of gold within the white Pentacle, the united image of her own faith. "Blessed Be Mary, Mother and Protector; Blessed Be Martha, Carrier of Faith. Blessed Be Jesus, more than Man, as True Man is the Image of God."

In the eyes of her soul, the powerful symbol remains a vivid glowing white and gold as she carries the extended blade to the South, inscribing a circle that forms one quarter of a sphere of white which will ultimately enclose her in its center. In the South she forms another shining Star and Cross, calling upon other names as powerful, then continues to the West, then North, finally closing the glowing sphere in the East, sealing herself inside a ball of white light visible only in her imagination; in her soul.

Lighting each of the candles in their proper sequence, she prepares the water, salt and wine, and is about to light a small purple cone of incense when the door behind her opens. She turns, seeing Jimmy standing in the doorway, not attempting to enter the room. She is suddenly conscious of the image she presents, standing before the Altar clad in the jade velvet cloak.

x

"May I come in?" he asks, not sure where her Circle is, understanding nearly nothing about this. He as never before attempted to involve himself in this. She's glad he's chosen now. She smiles, takes a small jar of floral oil from the altar and steps to the Circle until she stands within its border, visible only in her imagination, though she can feel its power tingling along her skin. She beckons him closer.

She will let him in. Now that they are committed it is time he experiences this part of her life for himself - and she will let him in completely. She puts a few drops of the fragrant oil on her finger, reaches up and anoints his forehead with a five pointed star enclosed within a circle, continuing into a cross, the symbol of her dual Faiths.

"I am the Gate, I am the Key; in Perfect Love I welcome Thee." She offers her hands, he is about to take them but she reaches higher, grasps his forearms until their wrists press together, their pulses touching. He bends to her kiss and as they retain the contact she turns, draws him into the Circle.

He says nothing, watching and trying to understand. She offers no explanations that will break her concentration but lights the cone of purple incense. The flame from the wooden match seems to be taken into the incense before it vanishes into a thin stream of rising smoke.

Standing before the Altar, she raises her arms upward, the jade sleeves falling from her bare flesh, hands cupped outward before her.

"I call upon the Goddess and God in equal love and trust. You know my prayer." Her words seem to reach out, to cross and fill an unknowable void. She reaches down, picks up the silver Chalice, holds it up high as her head. The candlelight catches the emblems incised into upon the silver. "I call upon my Patron Goddess. Hear me Venus, hear me Aphrodite, ye Goddess of Love who binds all Women, all Men, in Perfect Love." She picks up the Athame, holds it in her right hand at the level of the Chalice, touches the point to the silver. "Father in Heaven, Mother of Earth, Triune God and Fulfilling Goddess, I implore – I _beg_ you–" Her voice falters but she contains the rush of emotion, setting down the implements and slowly falling to her knees before the Altar, bare arms raised in supplication, "I _beg_ you, grant my prayer. But not as I will; in all things as Thou Wilt, so mote it be ..."

xxx

The room should be silent but it's painfully punctuated by sharp, intrusive beeps. Ziva stands beside Tim's bed, holding his hand. She says nothing, fearing to wake him but she's unable to release him. He looks so normal - but too still. Too still. The white band surrounding his head holds the dressing in place at the back of his head, the pillow ring preventing any pressure on the wound. It's the only indication she has that anything is wrong - physically. Inside that head is where all the turmoil lies.

She wonders if he dreams, and of what. When the door behind her opens she glances back, not wanting anyone to intrude upon this time with him. She sees Abby and Reverend O'Mallory enter in utter silence. Ziva is surprised to realize that, with a flash of sharp resentment, she had considered Abby's presence an intrusion on their privacy, but feels it less so with the Priest. They come to the bed, Abby on Ziva's right, Siobhan on her left. She doesn't want them here. She can't ask them to leave.

Ziva, her thoughts momentarily distracted from the man whose hand she holds, notes a sharp distinction between the two women. She'd noticed it before, wonders why she would now, but something about it grasps her attention.

In contrast to the small golden Star of David about her neck, Abby wears the large ornate silver cross with inlayed ruby given to her by Tony so many months ago. Siobhan, by Priestly custom or her own, Ziva doesn't know which, wears nothing with her short sleeved light blue shirt other than its stiff white collar that encircles her throat.

x

When Siobhan sees Tim lying still upon the bed, intravenous tubes and monitors attached to him, she very quickly masks her expression. She tries to hide her wounded heart. Her Duty here is to offer strength and comfort to those who need it, regardless of the knife that stabs her. It is a masking so careful that both women see it - and neither will harm it by noticing.

x

"Is there any change?" Abby whispers, her voice so soft she can barely hear it.

Ziva keeps her eyes locked upon Tim's face. She will not look at the woman nearly shoulder to shoulder with her. "No. He just ... lies there." Their voices are so quiet they are nearly drowned out by the soft beeping of the monitor beside the bed. Ziva imagines she can almost hear the silent dripping of the IV as it feeds into his arm.

Siobhan takes from the right pocket of her long skirt a small golden container, half an inch tall, two inches in diameter, inscribed with a Cross. Opening it, she presses her thumb into the circle of white cotton that fills it, then touches Tim's forehead, slowly marking it with a Cross and speaks in tones as soft as the other women's.

"Timmy, I anoint you with oil," she puts her hand upon his head, "and lay my hand upon you in the Name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, beseeching Him to fill you with His Grace that you may know the healing power of His Love."

She then lays her hand upon his chest, tries very hard to keep the flood of emotion from drowning her voice or even showing on her face to betray her wounded heart. And for her care she fails to hide those feelings from the other two women.

"As you have been outwardly anointed with this holy oil, so may our Heavenly Father grant you inward anointing of the Holy Spirit. Of His great mercy may He forgive you your sins, release you from suffering and restore you to wholeness and strength. May He deliver you from all evil, preserve you in all goodness and bring you to everlasting life, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen"

"Amen," the women reply. Siobhan and Abby inscribe the Sign of the Cross, Ziva never lets go of Tim's hand.

x

Abby doesn't want to speak, especially now. But if there is a probability - a chance - a risk - that they will lose him in the morning she has to say it now. "Did Tim give you my message?"

Ziva almost looks at her. "What message?" she asks quietly. What could be so important - now - that she would–?

"I'm done," Abby admits in a tiny voice, her face betraying infinite sadness, "I gave. I couldn't let go but I had to." She looks at her rival, who is unable to take her eyes from Tim's face. "We - he and I - we had our time - but he loves you. I was jealous, couldn't let go, tried to interfere. I'm sorry. I'm not interfering anymore. He's with you, he - he belongs with you."

Ziva cannot answer this. Tomorrow morning he may be dead. "The Hotel Maritz was just another case, just one of many, nothing special," she keeps her eyes locked on McGee's closed ones, unsure who she's really talking to, just trying to keep her voice from trembling. "It was ... interesting, quite a bit odd but nothing special. I do not think he was looking for anything special either. I was–. When he kissed me, suddenly everything in the universe changed - for me - for both of us I think. Suddenly things just seemed ... right."

Something about the moment compels her to look to Siobhan on her other side, to the woman who had known him half his lifetime ago.

x

She doesn't need to be asked, her own gaze still locked on him. "We were in the park next to the school. We were talking about quadratic equations." She looks at them; their expressions make her smile ruefully. "He was trying to teach me. He was _always_ trying to teach me and I was always just shy of flunking. He liked me and I liked him, so risking flunking wasn't such a bad strategy," she forces a smile at that admission. "I didn't know the difference between a quadratic equation and a polynomial. One Spring day in our Freshman year we were sitting on the grass in the park, he was trying his best to explain math to a 'numeric nimnull' when I just leaned over and kissed him."

Ziva feels her emotions crash upon her, threatening to burst through her control. They tighten her throat and strangle her voice as she fights to keep fearful tears from her stinging eyes. "Is he going to die?"

"I don't have those kinds of answers, Ziva," Siobhan admits, wishing more than ever that she could.

x

Ziva wants to cry, to scream, to rage in frustration at this woman who should have answers. She holds her silence because she knows O'Mallory cannot perform miracles nor is she gifted with omniscience. She is simply the guide to the One who does, no matter how desperately she needs them. She feels her eyes moisten and holds her breath, fighting for splintering control. She feels a touch on the back of her right hand about Tim's and looks down, following the hand touching hers up to Abby's sad and hopeful face.

Before she can think about it she turns, exchanging hands and her arm is about Abby, who clings to her with her left arm, her right hand still holding Tim's with Ziva's.

Ziva hugs her rival for Tim's affections, the woman who had been an adversary, who stood in the way of their love - and all the resentments and frustrations of the past four months are gone without her even noticing their passing. As the women hold one another, Ziva admits in a soft whisper: "he told me."

It's in that moment, their hands holding Tim's as they embrace, that each feels the healing begin.

x

For a long moment Siobhan stands alone, feeling shut out. She closes her eyes, her thoughts focused in silent prayer for her dearest friend, but then she feels a touch on her sleeve. Opening her eyes, she finds Abby and Ziva looking at her. Each releases Tim to extend an inviting hand, bringing her in.

The three women Tim McGee loves hug tightly, bonded in misery, anxiety and fearful hope.

xxx

An hour later, in a dark apartment halfway across Washington, urgent knocking at the door brings lights on throughout the rooms. Stanley Almirola makes his staggering way to the door followed by his wife Sylvia, who stops when she sees their eleven-year-old daughter Susan come out of her bedroom. She stops the child from coming closer. Stanley reaches the door, still wondering who would be making such a racket. "Who's there?" he calls.

"Stanley, it is Ziva David," the filtered voice comes back. Stanley exchanges a mystified look with his wife far behind him, then opens the door.

The last time the Theatrical Prop Master had met the Agent had been six months ago. An accident on a set had resulted in the death of a performer and blame had fallen upon him. Ziva, in the audience that evening, had been instrumental in proving his innocence to the police during the days of investigation that had followed. She had been far more contained and professional than she now appears. If he were to try to place a label on her now, it would be 'frantic'. "Ziva, what are you doing here?"

"Stanley, I am really sorry, but I need help and you are the only one I can depend upon."

Stanley looks back again to his wife. Strange has just taken a notch up into bizarre. A Federal Agent needs his - ? "Ziva, it's really late..."

"Stanley, please!" The next words come hard to her, but for Tim she will say them. "Please - I am _begging_ you..."

xxx

Jennifer Shepherd lays upon her bed, reading by lamplight a stack of reports, the day's work piled high against her hip. But as she reads the page of the open file, too many at her hip and too few on the night table below the lamp, she notices the words are familiar. She realizes it's because she has read the same page three times, having no idea what it's telling her.

Rather than doing this in her first floor study, she has gone back to her old habit of taking work to bed, feeling more relaxed to deal with affairs than if she had to sit up at her desk. Reading them in the overly elegant room, making decisions by lamplight, there are several bottles too close at hand that she neither needs nor wants.

She has given her staff the night off, asking them to find some entertainment elsewhere, needing these few hours of solitude.

Nothing helps.

x

Pushing the stack aside where it flows in an avalanche of paper across the width of her bed, she gets up, leaves her room and goes to the stairs. She intends to go down to the kitchen, neither hungry nor wanting to eat anything immediately before trying to go to sleep.

Her brief negligee, a generously cut lavender silk teddy trimmed in white, flutters about her thighs as she walks, giving her cover more illusionary than real. It had been a thoughtless indulgence, chosen meaninglessly for comfort - she doesn't even remember selecting it or dressing in it.

She realizes that not only doesn't she remember putting it on, she doesn't remember taking off her pants suit, or letting herself in her front door...

x

She reaches the foot of the stairs and there's a brisk knock upon the front door. Halting, quite surprised at the sudden very late night sound, she is instantly and fully aware, particularly of her lack of attire as she calls out cautiously: "Who's there?"

"Gibbs."

Jenny looks down at herself. The too generously cut lavender garment covers her from below shoulders to hips and nothing more. She should tell him to go away, to wait while she runs upstairs and fetches a robe–. She recalls this is the same outfit she had been wearing nearly two years ago, during the hunt for Ari Haswari, when he had also come for an unexpected visit. But then he had been in the street and had called, giving her the opportunity to dress, not meeting her at her door.

She considers retiring this negligee. It's bad luck.

However, there is something in that muffled voice she had come to know through so many years, so many trials. That distant word that makes her do something she would never conceive of doing with anyone this side of Paradise. She approaches the door and unlocks it.

She is cautious, however, about opening it. She stands behind it, only her head and one shoulder visible. It is not that they have not known one another so very well, didn't have a torrid past, but those days are but a memory and it is no longer appropriate. "Jethro," she tries to smile, realizing it will become her only cover, "it's late."

"Can I talk to you, Jen?"

There is something about his face, his voice, those haunted eyes - so familiar and so foreign - that makes her decide something she does not believe she would do for any other man. It has been years since they have shared that torrid intimacy, they are different people now, with different responsibilities and proprieties, but this is a time when even this must be forgotten.

There is no time for a robe, no time to close the door in his face, only to decide to set aside propriety in favor of helping a lost friend. She opens the door and he steps in past her.

He walks across the length of the foyer, slowly enters her study, barely having glanced at her. He stops just inside her study, not looking at her, visibly trying to gather himself and failing. Jennifer looks at him standing there, not looking back at her but into her study, lost and forlorn. These are not images she equates with her old friend.

She closes the door, takes a deep, steadying breath and follows him. She turns on a single lamp, its soft light illuminating the room to twilight, and steps up behind him. He doesn't move. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, then steps around him. She stands before him, feeling particularly illuminated by the dim lamplight. "Jethro..." She waits for him to see that the timing is particularly inappropriate.

"Jen," he sits down upon a chair, "I really need to talk."

x

He'd looked into her eyes, seeing nothing else. This alone makes her decide her choice was the right one. Sitting down in a chair facing him, the negligee draping about her body as she settles herself, she glances down to see how the garment barely reaches to her thighs. She looks at him, his eyes deeply probe hers. She knows he sees nothing but her eyes.

"So talk."

x

"Am I doing the right thing, Jen?" he asks, his eyes locked upon hers, seeking answers in them he can find nowhere else. His soul is in such a roil as he would never allow anyone else to ever see, but he will allow her to see below his surface, to the man behind the shield. "I've lost men before, in combat and on missions, but there's something – unfair– about what happened to McGee. He deserves more. But am I doing the right thing?"

"I don't know," she confesses softly. "But if you are, or if you're not, we're doing it together, the eight of us."

"No. No, _I'm_ doing it and I'm making the others follow me. Abby, Ducky, O'Mallory - they've objected, I overruled them. I've railroaded this through them because I cannot stand the thought of McGee going for years in this ... this fantasy, living his life in some Sanitarium somewhere. But tomorrow McGee and DiNozzo are going into Smithsonian Castle with real swords and I just can't help thinking I'm risking even more than their two lives and Mc - and _Tim's_ sanity."

"There's still time to change plans."

"Let the Shrinks take over?"

"It _is_ their profession, what they've been trained to do." She watches her old partner consider a question that has gone through his mind a thousand times today.

"No." He looks into her eyes intently. "No, I believe in this decision, I believe it's the right one. I - I _need_ McGee back, as he was, not wallowing for the rest of his life in a hospital. I have seen too many people go into those things and too few come out. I will _not _risk that, not without trying to help. Not without trying."

This, she knows, is the core of his determination to act. He does not know if it will work, but he has to try. He will not admit this to anyone in the world but he needs his friend back - and he is focused on it not eight years in the future, not after long and uncertain therapy. Now.

"So then we do this."

x

"Sullivan says I'm crazy, that I'm risking his life on 'an ill-conceived, rash, desperate gamble with McGee's mind and his life'."

"Do you know what I say?"

"What?" he actually braces for it - visibly.

"I say we have as much chance of getting him back as five years of psychotherapy. I'm like you, I want Tim McGee back and that man back there is not Tim McGee."

"No. The Elf Lord, Master of all the Elves in Dubhrein. But I listen to him, consider the gamble I'm forcing everyone to play; DiNozzo or McGee or both could be seriously hurt; maybe ... I weigh that - and occasionally I wonder if being a 'Lord of the Elves' isn't such a bad lifestyle."

"Then let me allay those thoughts right now."

Jenny leans forward, her words intense, not allowing herself to think of her undraped condition, "We know McGee. He is a vital, creative man but he lives in the real world, the world of computers and investigations and mystery-solving and writing and trying to figure out where his chaotic love life is going to lead him next as a corner of a very lopsided triangle, or perhaps an even more lopsided rectangle if I'm any judge. Timothy McGee is a man of reality _and_ creation, but I know he would not want to be trapped in a dream, no matter how dramatic it is. If he were in his right mind he would choose the world that has Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Jennifer Shepherd in it, not King Tighearna and Queen Brigid."

Jennifer stands. "It's time for bed;" she says peremptorily. "You should go home and go to bed before we're both too tired in the morning to work."

"I'm not tired," he maintains.

"No, but it's not from your coffees, you're running on pure adrenaline. You are so upset, even if you won't let anyone else see it or even admit it to yourself, that you can't see anything clearly."

"I can see."

She looks up into his eyes, fixes him intently. "Jethro, are you all right?"

x

The question, coming out of nowhere for him, is just strange enough - considering his soul-baring dissertation to her - to not only capture his attention but rip whatever calm he had been clinging to away from him. And despite his best efforts he explodes. "_No_, Jen, I'm _Not_! That's what I've been trying to _tell _you!"

She leaves the study, walks across the foyer to her front door and stands beside it, her hand upon the knob, a clear signal that he is to leave, but smiling what he considers a rather odd smile.

"Why?" he finally asks from the study door, unable to discern the reason for her question, or for her rather odd smile.

"Because you are so upset you can't see anything in front of your face."

Angry, he stalks up to her until they are barely inches apart, keeping his voice level with the greatest of effort. "How can you say that?" he demands, deeply affronted.

"Well, Jethro, you came here deep in the night and, in all this heart-to-heart talk we have been having you, a trained Investigator though you are, utterly failed to discern Victoria's Secret."

For the first time his eyes drop below the level of hers and his face reflects his utter astonishment.

xxx

Tony DiNozzo enters the small Hospital Chapel on the first floor near the main entrance, finding it unoccupied. This contents him quite well, for he doesn't want to see anyone. He'd told Jeanne where he would be if she wanted to find him, seriously hoping she would not come looking.

The room is small, barely large enough for four chairs, a cloth covered Altar with a Bible opened upon a stand and books of other faiths conveniently close. There is no Cross, no Star of David, no Crescent Moon or anything else, only a vase of fresh flowers upon the Altar beyond the open book. The room is completely non-denominational, and to Tony it is that much less for the attempt. He wants a Cross, something to focus on, something - some_one_ to talk to.

"God?" he asks softly, as though not sure anyone is here. There is just silence; utter, still, dim silence. "It's me, Anthony DiNozzo. I know I haven't ... spoken to you in a long time. I'm not big on talking to - well, anyway, now I want to - and I really hope you're here to listen ... 'cause I'm ... I'm kind of - lost right now." He stops, his voice tightening and he doesn't want it to, "you see, God, I've killed my friend."

x

He steps closer to the Altar, touches it, stares at the fair linen covering it, anything to focus on. "They say he's not dead, that it's not my fault, but it is. His body's upstairs, but someone I don't know – that I don't want to know – is in charge of it. I sat there next to him - they told me to go home but I can't - I can't sleep or... He didn't move, didn't open his eyes, just that _damned bee_– Sorry, the old emotions getting away from me, you know how it is. They said not to go in, not to let him see me, I didn't tell them what they could do with that order. But I'd even prefer to have his hands around my throat again, no one to stop him from finishing the job. It's what I deserve."

He sits down in a chair, more spiritually exhausted than physically, "He just _lies _there. I never meant for this to happen, you _know_ I didn't. You know me, old Tony DiNozzo, the joker - always the one with the smart-ass remark, the dig, the ... Well, sometimes I'm not sure lately if I'm the joker or the joke." He looks upward. "All I do know is that I'm–"

The opening of the door behind him silences him. He looks back in sharp annoyance at the intruder, but it's Jeanne Benoit, the only woman he could possibly let see him at this moment.

"Are you okay?" she whispers, letting the door close.

x

"Oh, yeah, sure," he assures her with forced and fake smile. "When am I not okay? I'm just sitting here chatting, thinking about how I–" his false smile collapses. "Killed my friend. And now he wants to kill me."

"You _didn't_ kill your friend, Tony," Jeanne tells him for what feels like the twentieth time. She sits down beside him and wonders if he even heard the first nineteen. "Someone was trying to kill him, you leapt in to save him. You didn't know–"

"You didn't see him with his hands around my throat!" Tony cuts through her. "The look in his eyes. He wanted me dead."

"He did _not_! The Elf Lord wanted the Princess' kidnapper dead. Agent McGee does not want to kill you. He does not hate you!"

"'Defiler', 'dark, black and evil', 'dark challenger'; 'a soulless monster, a butcher who will stab a man, or woman, in the back if he feels it will serve his goals; honor-less and sadistic, unable to obtain power over innocent people by merit, he will wrest it through the rape of a helpless virgin'." He'll never be able to wash those charges from his mind. "From where I sit there's not much distinction. I–"

For the second time the door opens behind him and cuts him to silence. But this time the woman pauses at the door. "I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here," Reverend Siobhan O'Mallory apologizes, starts to close the door again.

"No, Mother, don't go," Tony urges, careful not to let the plea sound too intense. If he cannot talk to God, if he can't get an answer, he'll try talking to His representative.

She closes the door behind her. "I usually come in here for a moment before leaving after my visits."

Tony is on his feet in a moment, in the small room they are only three feet apart. "Reverend, may I speak to you?" Up close, he can see the tiredness in her eyes, notice the occasional rapid, almost spasmodic blinking before she focuses upon him through her gold framed glasses.

"Of course; I dare say I know what it's about." It had been a long day before she had gotten the call about Timmy. Since then it's grown far longer, tenser, and at this very late hour she is not happy to mince words.

"I'm in the unpleasant situation of looking into my soul and not liking what I'm finding."

"And you're wondering, in all this quest of self discovery, if you are responsible for driving Timmy to this."

"Yes."

x

Siobhan sighs, feels even more tired and regrets her decision to come in here. She'd really wanted to get back to the Rectory and her bed. Ever since Dr. McFadden had given her that CD player and disk for under her pillow she has finally been sleeping through the night with neither nightmares nor panic attacks and she just wants to get back to her music.

But she recognizes the hand of God in guiding her in here now and cannot deny that she owes this man some kind of answer.

"Agent DiNozzo, I honestly do not _know_. I don't understand what has happened to Timmy - I suspect Doctor Mallard does but I do not. And I am too new to so many of you to be in a position to draw any conclusions. Timmy has told me some things about each of you, but I'm not one to do it based upon what little I know. I can only tell you that I hear no hatred or enmity in him, if that is what you're afraid of."

"That's a big chunk of it."

Siobhan turns to the door, overwhelmed by today and not at all looking forward to tomorrow. But then she stops, recognizing she owes the man more and finding inspiration in the open book beyond him.

"I do not have any answers for you, answers that could guide you on your quest. But for what little I know, perhaps the Apostle Paul said it best when he wrote his First Letter to the Corinthians. I think if you look into Chapter 13, verse 11, you'll find an answer to what you seek."

"Thank you." It is less than he'd hoped for, more cryptic than he can take, but he will thank her anyway.

"Good night, Agent DiNozzo, Doctor Benoit."

"Good night, Mother."

x

When she turns and leaves, Tony finds himself staring at the door after her, unable to look away, unable to resolve that message. Then he becomes aware of Jeanne at his side, and when he looks to her she has the open book from the Altar in her hand, already opened to Corinthians 13. He does not question her but takes the book. He can't see the words clearly in the dimness, so he carries it under one of the ceiling lights and finds the verse the woman had cited.

"'When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things'."

xxx

Siobhan, unable to consider leaving despite her desire to do so, returns to the room where her beloved friend lies. It is far into the night, long past visiting hours, but those limitations never apply to one wearing a white collar any more than they do to the holder of a badge and she has both. Her thoughts so closely focused, she would not have noticed if anyone did try to stop her.

When she enters Timmy's room, all should be quiet - but it is not. The IV assists in keeping him asleep yet she leaves the lights off, only able to see him by the city lights that come up through the window behind her and those of the instruments beeping and whirring about him.

This is the first, the only, time that she has been able to see her loving friend without others around, without having to appear strong or professional or supporting before or for others. For the first time they're alone and she is unprepared for the sword that stabs her heart.

"Timmy," she whispers as quietly as she can, "I don't know if you can hear me, if you know I'm here ... but I miss you." She reaches out, takes his hand. "I don't understand what happened to you, I don't know if Agent Gibbs' plan will work - but I wish I could tell you..." She keeps hold of both his hands, doesn't ever want to let go.

"Timmy, you have people here who love you, who want you back, who _need_ you back." She bends close, her face close to his as she whispers utterly softly, "_I_ need you back." Her kiss lingers on his lips, longer than she ever would were they not alone, far more so than if he were awake. Her quiet whisper is utterly private, things she could never say if she thought he'd understand but _needing_ to say them to him: "Timmy, a chuisle, mo ghile mear, ta mo chroi istigh ionat."

xxx

Doctor Donald Mallard stands before one of his silver Examination tables, empty for now and he fervently hopes that it will remain so.

In his imagination it is not.

Before him lies the still body of a man far too young to be on this table. "Ah, Timothy, it is just not fair," he says softly with infinite regret.

In his fears, they have failed.

Tim McGee opens his eyes, turns and looks up at his friend. "We both knew this had to come some day."

"Yes, but why now? And why this way?"

"We don't have the luxury of deciding, you know that better than any of us. The best we can hope for is to go out doing what we enjoy. I like to write – and I died having the chance to _live _one of my books."

Ducky closes his eyes to shut out the pain. "You should have had time to write more books."

When he opens his eyes again, the table is empty.

Turning off the overhead light, he goes to the door. Looking back, he turns off the main switch, plunging the room into darkness.


	6. Dubhshlaine's Castle

Chapter Six  
Dubhshlaine's Castle

Morning comes too soon and its brightness and clarity are a lie to the people who gather in the commandeered office as they go over their final plans. "If anyone has any objections," Shepherd says, "this is your last chance."

"I have already made mine," Ducky announces.

"Yes, you have," Gibbs acknowledges, "and believe me, they've been heard."

"But you are determined to try this."

"I am, but I'm not doing it alone. We are in this - or out of it - together." He looks about the room, taking in the assembled men and women, colleagues and friends old and new, all united in their concern for one of their own. "Abby?"

She swallows hard. "I'm ready with a convincing 'spell' - I hope. The drink I give him will put him out for one hour. He'll believe he's going to be magically teleported to the field of battle, along with Ziva–"

"Muirne," Ziva corrects.

"Who_ever_!"

"We have to get this right," Gibbs reminds them firmly. "No matter how much we dislike it, we're going to have to play this through, at least when he's awake, until we can play it to the end."

"You're counting on bringing this story to an end and then him coming out of it when it's over," DiNozzo objects, "but what if he doesn't? What if, at the end, he just goes back to Elfland–"

"Dubhrein," Ziva corrects him.

"And he and Muirne live happily ever after? What then?"

"Then ... we leave it to the shrinks."

"Who may have a harder time of it than they would now," Ducky interjects, "after we will have firmly implanted this reality into him."

Gibbs wishes DiNozzo and Ducky weren't right. This is the very question that hadn't allowed him a moment's sleep, why he is already on his sixth cup of coffee at barely eight in the morning. "I wish I could say this is going to be easy, I wish I could guarantee it'll work – I can't. It boils down to this: does McGee go home with us, or does he spend the next five years in Bethesda?"

xxx

Ziva is the first to enter Tim's room, he had been dressed in his own clothing while sedated. She has only a vague idea what he sees himself in - or her for that matter. He is awake, the effects of the discontinued sedative drained from his system.

"What say you, girl? How could you let me slumber so long?" His manner is so different, so 'lordly' that the white dressing surrounding his head seems more suited to a crown.

"It was necessary, my Lord," she answers, not wanting him to see the pain in her heart. She tries to adopt the manner of speech attributed to them in his book. It ties her tongue in knots. "The King himself did order it, and the Mage Aislinn Katarina Gormath - ab, I mean Catradine Gormlaith did enforce it."

He is certainly not going to contradict either the King or the powerful Mage but- "Are you well, Muirne?"

'Of _course_ I am not! You are _**ripping**_my _**heart**_out!' "What do you mean, my Lord?"

"For you to misspeak so simple - and so important - a name does not sit well in my ears, particularly as we strive to renew the Quest."

"I am fi - I am well, my Lord. Ever my sword is ready for battle."

He looks at her expectantly, particularly her bare hands, "Did you bring _my_ sword?"

'Oh crap!' she had forgotten it on the table outside.

"Come, girl, what Armsmaiden neglects her arms? They should be ever in your sight lest _Excelsior_ vanish into unworthy hands and I be forced to seek service elsewhere!"

"I am sorry, my Lord. I shall bring it!" She hurries out.

x

In the corridor she almost collides with DiNozzo. He presses the silver, gold and red weapon into her hands.

"Hey, you gonna be okay?" He can see the heavy toll this is taking on her. "Can you do this?"

"No," she admits, "but I _will_ do it."

"You look exhausted."

"Up all night, I had something I needed. And you do not look much better."

"Up all night too, watching every on-demand movie with a swordfight I could find. You'd be surprised how many there are at 3:00 a.m."

"Did they help?"

"Nicked two walls and a chair. I'm not ready."

"Neither am I."

Using their shared grip upon the gleaming blade, he gives a push toward the room. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Tony." Of all the challenges and dangers they'd faced over the past two years, this is the most stressful. They fight not for justice or for their countries or even for the world - they fight for their friend's life.

"See you at the castle."

x

When Ziva reenters Tim's room it is obvious that whatever the Doctors have given him has completely worn off. It is equally obvious that he is quite dissatisfied. "And where is the scabbard?" he demands.

'Holy hell, _what _scabbard?' she thinks, her mind on the upcoming conflict. There had been nothing in his apartment, "It was lost, my Lord, in the battle."

"No matter;" he takes the sword from her hands and hefts it. A flick of his wrist turns the heavy sword about his hand to fall back into his palm, then turning a fast series of figures eight as she backs cautiously out of its range, the glittering blade slices through the air with rushes of wind. In possession of _Excelsior_, he now seems even more domineering, even more Lordly. "You may inform the Mage Gormlaith that we await her Enchantment." _Excelsior_ slices through the air around his hand in a gesture he makes look easy, catching the lights again on its gleaming surface as he grips it and holds it forward, menace in every glint. "And battle!"

xx

King Tighearna Conri Anrai, Queen Brigid Ailish Filelma, the Mage Aislinn Catradine Gormlaith, Armsmaiden and fellow Elf Muirne Cainneach Sorcha: aka Gibbs, Shepherd, Sciuto and David surround Elf Lord Greagoir Daibhidh Cearbhall, the former Timothy McGee. One is prepared for battle and glory, the others tense and apprehensive. Abby gives Tim a small glass one third filled with a colorless liquid. "You will drink this."

He examines the liquid suspiciously, "Why?"

Abby gives him a sigh heavy with exasperation, only a part of which is faked. "_Elves_! What does it mean when the moon is halved, the red star clears the horizon and the entrails of the sparrow used in divination are green?"

"I know not," he admits, chastised.

"Then you shall drink the potion _and ask me no further questions_!"

He drains the cup quickly. One angers a Mage at one's great peril.

"Now we wait."

x

Cearbhall looks at the King and Queen of Men, his fellow Elf Muirne, none of them give him enlightenment. There are several long moments of uncomfortable silence, at least it is uncomfortable for him. Finally, braving himself to risk her rage, he addresses the Mystic in terms of as great a deference and courtesy as a Lord may manage with one of common - or in her case uncommon - blood.

"I beg your gracious pardon, Ladymage, but for what do we wai–?" With a sigh he pitches forward. They grab him, support his limp body.

"That," she answers with satisfaction. She had not missed her estimate by even a second. "He'll be out for one hour," she tells them definitely. The drug had been measured to the drop, taking account of everything from his height, weight and metabolism to his lack of breakfast.

"That'll do fine," Gibbs tells her, admiration clear in his tone as Palmer enters, pushing a wheelchair.

Gibbs looks at Shepherd, who confirms that: "The men are in place, assembled on the front lawn, all ready to be corpses when we arrive."

Palmer holds the chair ready and they ease McGee into it. Gibbs looks to the 'Elf Counsel'. "Are DiNozzo and O'Mallory gone?"

"They left a few moments ago."

"He remembers it'll be in the second floor main room? He didn't forget his sword?"

"Yes and No." He can tell very well, they all can, that it is a measure of Gibbs' concern and tension he will not admit to that he is repeating details of a plan long and minutely discussed.

To this point they could have backed out, now there is no choice. They are committed. Timothy McGee will either come back to them whole or he will go almost irretrievably mad.

Or he will die.

xxx

The black and white Crime Scene truck precedes its blue and white Medical Examiner counterpart into the vast lawn fronting the Smithsonian Museum. It immediately veers right toward the hedges that line the lawn. Jennifer Shepherd, parked at the curb, exits her chauffeur driven limousine and makes her way across the lawn to the knot of fifty Agents who await her. She knows that, all eyes upon the Director, few will be attentive to the trucks which park as close to the hedges as possible and wait. When she is close enough to be heard by all, she addresses her Agents.

"This is to be a Disaster Response Training Drill, our trainees will respond to a simulated terrorist attack using poison gas upon a public monument. You are to spread yourselves out from this point toward the entrance to the museum; and though you are dead I don't want to hear anyone snoring."

This earns her a good natured chuckle from some before they spread themselves out as ordered, no one Agent closer than seven feet to another. "All right, everyone," she calls loudly and says what she's been looking forward to saying all morning, "drop dead!"

Fifty men fall to the grass and stay there.

x

As soon as there are no witnesses Ducky and Jimmy open the rear door of the Medical Examiner truck, rolling out a covered gurney. "This is the first time that I have delivered a body _to_ a scene," Ducky tells his old friend.

"Yeah, just pray you won't be bringing him back." Gibbs responds tersely.

Ducky makes no reply.

He and Jimmy conduct the gurney through a space in the hedges where Ziva awaits. She is attired in her usual garb - there is no need for disguise when Cearbhall sees what he wants to see, though she does carry at her waist, tucked into the belt loop of her pants, a distinctive gold and jeweled dagger.

Jimmy is about to inquire about this, she already has Cearbhall's sword, but the look she gives him makes him decide silence is a wise idea.

x

Ziva kneels beside Tim, who lies still near the field of battle, actually the tremendous lawn fronting Smithsonian Castle. Crouching down behind bushes on the right of the field, armed with swords - hers commandeered from the museum itself - as well as a dagger she'd obtained last night, she looks out at the devastation they'd supposedly caused the last time they had been there.

There will be no interference, nor break in the 'reality' of the scene.

Tim starts to awaken. He opens his eyes and looks about, his movements sluggish. He first sees the trees and Muirne kneeling beside him, then rolls over and looks past the hedges at the collection of dead bodies extending all the way to the distant castle. "Well done, Ladymage," he says softly, then turns to Ziva. "She has returned us to the very moment she drew us from. The soldiers of the despised Dubhshlaine have not yet begun to molder."

"I am glad of that, my Lord." Tense as she is, fifty rotting corpses would provide too much realism for her or her breakfast. It's one thing to be experienced and strong, but everyone has her limits.

"Tim - ab, I mean Greagoir - before we do this ... again ... I was wondering. What reward did you ask the King for? I mean, I know there's gold, jewels, but you asked something more of the King and I couldn't find – that is, I was curious." The request had been present but that detail had been conspicuously missing from the story she'd read, probably it was being left for a surprise in the unwritten end and she shouldn't care.

However, motivations always lead to unexpected actions and if she is going into battle with Tony inside that building she wants to know everything. Over the past two days she has had enough surprises and in battle surprises can get one killed - or in this case, actually worse.

"I asked for the hand of Princess Mairenn."

x

A sword thrusts through Ziva's chest. This is unexpected - but Ziva tells herself she is not entirely surprised. Mairenn is, after all, O'Mallory. They have a history together she cannot do anything about - just so long as fantasy _remains_ fan –

'Focus, Ziva,' she remonstrates herself sharply. There is more at stake here than past loves _or_ fantasy!

"So you, what, get to be the next King?"

"I _am _Lord of the Elves;" he reminds her with no humility, his tone reminding her that he is also _her_ Lord. "I shall be a great King of Men as well."

"Oh." The flood of ego aside, she now knows how motivated he is to fulfill this quest, but one thing still holds her curious, "What about me?"

He looks at her inquisitively. "You? You are my Subject," he reminds her.

"No, I mean I am your partner, I am risking my life in this too." 'Right, there is no one in five hundred yards who is not an NCIS Agent.' "What do I get?"

"_Get_?" He is incredulous; what could she possibly mean?

"Am I speaking Gaelic?" She wouldn't put it past him. "I mean, beside the gold and jewels –."

"_Gold _and _jewels_?" he demands in amazement, "don't be ludicrous!"

"You mean I am not getting anything?" Not that she cares, this is not real, but to him it is and she wants to understand - because lack of understanding can be dangerous. "Why not?"

"You're a _Woman_!"

x

Ziva is so utterly astonished her exclamation comes out in an incredulous laugh. "You chauvinist Bastard!"

If this were not a fantasy she would demand a renegotiation of her contract, but as it is: "I am glad to be seeing this side of you now, before–" She stops herself, forcibly reminding herself what reality really is and to whom she is speaking.

He looks at her uncomprehendingly. "Before what?"

"Never mind," she berates herself for having been drawn into this discussion. This is not Tim; this is Cearbhall. She knows Tim.

At least she _thinks _she does.

x

Forcibly pushing this nonsense aside, she directs his attention to the fifty slaughtered soldiers spread out on the field before them.

"Same plan," he confirms, rising to one knee. Surveying the landscape, _Excelsior_ ready in his hand, he readies himself to break cover for battle. "We find and free Princess Mairenn and kill Dubhshlaine."

This does not sound good. "Shall we not just defeat him, all the same, my Lord?" This fantasy syntax is going to put her tongue in bondage.

"For what he has done," Tim declares, "he must _die_."

No, this is definitely not good.

He reads the wrong thing into her hesitation; "What, can you think it so passing strange that a mortal woman could capture the heart of a Lord of the Fairie?"

"No, my Lord," Ziva admits, starting to wish they would break cover and fight.

"I have adored the beauteous Mairenn Ceibhfhionn Ciorsdan since first I lay eyes upon her. She feels the same way of me, and though we have long been separated she shall be my wife!"

Ziva stares at him, not sure how much of this impassioned declaration is Cearbhall for Ciorsdan and how much is McGee for his former love.

Has he harbored these feelings, this passion, for O'Mallory for all these years? Has she finally gotten rid of Abby as a rival only to have her be replaced by the _Priest_? Are she and Tim never to have any peace?

But as she watches, her heart seized in apprehension and growing jealous anger, he stands and hefts his sword, turning it again about his hand in that so-intimidating spin of his. His next declaration allows no ambiguity at all.

"For his atrocities committed upon the fair Mairenn, Dubhshlaine will die!"

xx

They make their way across the lawn past dozens of corpses, not sparing even one a second glance; they have already been defeated and pose no challenge to the Quest. They enter the imposing structure, Ziva seeing a wooden and glass door and knowing Tim sees a massive portal of a true castle; that detail being one of too many in his story.

The fantasy doors, tall and massive oak, open into a Great Hall, to Ziva the outer room of the museum. But as they make their cautious trek across the inner hall a door to their left opens and a woman steps out.

Ziva has no idea who she is; possibly a member of the staff who either did not get the order to vacate or who stayed to make certain nothing happened to any of the museum's exhibits. Either way her heart leaps into her throat when Tim raises his sword and advances on her!

Ziva leaps in front of him, blocks his charge and extends her hand toward the woman, yelling loudly; "NCIS - SCRAM!"

x

The frightened woman runs back through the door, slamming it closed. The Elf Lord, amazed, turns to his aggravated companion. "How did you that?" He sees a piece of golden metal in her hand and grasps her wrist before she can put it back into her pocket, "What is this?"

'_Crap_!' "Ab - I mean Gorlath - Goramlayth - the _Magician_ gave it to me. It is a Spell, my Lord - I mean a talisman." He pulls her hand closer so he may see it better. "It is supposed to make our enemies obey us."

The gold talisman is backed by leather and depicts an eagle with spread wings over a heavily decorated emblem that Cearbhall has never seen before. It is incised with vertical stripes like a coat of arms, within which is a small circular emblem wherein another eagle flies before a masted ship, all surrounded by words that mean nothing to him. He is momentarily annoyed that his companion had been given it, but has to admit he had been incapacitated for most of his return. "You may tell the Ladymage it performed its function well. Is this why she returned us?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"She might have given it to us the first time," he says, letting her put it back into the pocket of her breeches.

"She does not always think ahead."

Her Lord looks at her sharply. "Be cautious of your tongue, Muirne, lest she hear your words and it no longer _be_ a tongue."

"Yes, my Lord," she submits, chastised and just wishing this thing were over.

x

Through the ear wig concealed by her hair, Ziva hears Shepherd's voice. "We're ready for you. Bring him up through the north door."

"I suspect, my Lord, we will find Ciorsdan upstairs. May I suggest _that_ door?"

Leading the way, his sharp sword at ready, Cearbhall ascends the stairs to battle.

x

The second floor features a huge room given over to displays. Ziva can only wonder what McGee sees, but their attention is focused immediately upon the Great Hall's only occupants.

Siobhan O'Mallory, with all the others having heard every embarrassingly revealing word uttered on the path to this room through the tiny speaker concealed in her ear, stands with her back to the left wall and finds sight far worse than hearing. She can't believe this is the same man she had known since their early teens. The way he moves, the way he speaks, the words he speaks: there is little of the gentle Timmy McGee in this body.

x

Tony has intentionally positioned his 'captive' against the wall as far away as possible in case there is to be any swordwork, though they expect from his book that McGee sees her chained to that wall. From what he and the others have heard in earwigs receiving the signal from Ziva's transmitter, swordwork is almost certain. He hopes he can dissuade his friend, but considering the man's motivations, he has his doubts.

He stands in the center of the Hall, well away from his captive, armed with the silver skull sword from Tim's apartment.

Ziva hopes he knows how to use it.

x

"_Varlet_!" McGee's voice booms through the tremendous chamber. "I give you one chance! Free the beauteous Mairenn and repent your vile crimes – or _die_!" That ominous spin of steel causes light to flash from the mirror polished blade as he wields it with more skill than DiNozzo had anticipated.

"Well, hey, you know, you got me," DiNozzo says, holding the sword out to the side, defenses clearly down. "You beat my men, stormed my castle, you won. She's yours, I give up. I surrender. I'm sorry I was bad. Take her, she's yours." He is about to toss down the sword when McGee raises his own, his furious voice booming through the room;

"Vile, impious wretch, I knew you would never concede!"

"Oh hell!" Tony raises his sword barely in time to meet Tim's charge and ward off a furious blow. The metal rings loudly as he backs away, barely warding off a blow he feels to his shoulders. A second and then third strike are hard enough to nearly batter the sword from his hands.

"Watch out, Tony!" Ziva cries. "He sees and hears only what he wants!"

"Ya _think_?" He barely wards off another series of strikes. Their swords ring sharply in the chamber. He gives ground around displays, praying he won't back into a trap, unable to spare a glance behind him. He counts on Ziva and O'Mallory to warn him as McGee batters his blade with horrifying skill. Only fast reflexes save him again and again, but DiNozzo realizes his luck will surely run out as fine steel rings through the chamber.

He has all he can do just to block each furious assault, some of them come far too close. McGee believes himself to be the best swordsman in the world and that confidence carries through to his unrelenting advance.

Tony ducks away, tries to keep out of reach of and block the gleaming blade, working his way around the room and back toward the spot where he'd started. Fighting a normal battle would be hard enough, especially when it must be purely defensive, but Tim's attacks are left handed, the blade comes from the opposite direction Tony would expect to guard from.

The assault is terrifying. DiNozzo must defend in reversebut McGee never lets up on his furious assault. Sooner rather than later he has to break through!

x

But as the swords ring out over and over DiNozzo realizes that, for all McGee's confidence, the attacks are limited and he's beginning to recognize them. They're starting to become familiar. The combattants have almost reached their starting point in the room's center and when McGee repeats the same move once too many times Tony is ready. He swings hard, the swords collide and the powerful impact knocks McGee's sword out of his hand. It flies away, hits the stone floor with a loud ring and clangs far out of reach.

Now Tony hopes he can make the man listen to reason – an instant later his legs are swept out from under him and he slams onto his back. His sword flies away, rings out over and over as it bounces across the room. He looks up, amazed to see Ziva kneeling over him.

"Ziva, what are you–?" Ziva tosses McGee the dagger from her belt and grabs Tony's wrists, pulls them back and up in a painful joint lock.

"Now, My Lord," she cries, "Finish it! KILL HIM!"

"_NO_!" Tony's cry mingles with Siobhan's. He looks up in horror as McGee, wielding the dagger in both hands, comes down fast upon him. He slams the blade into the center of his chest!

Tony's scream echoes through the chamber.

x

x

There is utter silence in the room as the two women crouch on either side of the motionless men The Elf Lord clutches the dagger pressed deep into the chest of his mortal enemy.

Siobhan is as horrified as Agent DiNozzo had been. At Ziva's interference and urging, Timmy has just _murdered _his friend!

A second becomes two, becomes four, becomes eight. Tim McGee collapses upon Tony's body, limp as a corpse.

"Oh, no!" Ziva exclaims, releasing DiNozzo's wrists. "Oh _God - NO_!" Ziva and Siobhan both reach for the motionless man as from every door Gibbs, Jenny, Ducky, Jimmy, Abby and Michelle hurry toward them. Ziva and Siobhan both cling to Tim, Ziva's tormented cries filling the chamber. "It did not work! IT DID NOT WORK!"

x

For Siobhan, the nightmare has begun. The last private words she'd whispered to him last night; 'my beloved, my dashing darling, my heart is within you' stab at hers now as she clutches her friend's body, unable to think, unable to endure. He cannot be dead, Agent DiNozzo too - 'God - _Please_!' she appeals more intently, more desperately than any prayer she has ever made.

"Ziva –," Gibbs reaches out to her but she turns on him, her cry filled with grief and fury.

"_DAMN YOU, GIBBS, IT DID NOT WORK_!"

Before anyone can say anything more McGee groans, slowly begins to move. He picks up his head, shakes it as though to clear it.

"My Lord – you are Alive!" Ziva cries, throwing her arms about him, so ecstatic she cannot yet bring herself back into balance with reality, too used to addressing him in the dream.

Tim, still laying on DiNozzo's body, looks up at her uncomprehendingly, "Your _what_?" He looks down at the body he lies upon, amazed to find his right hand wrapped about a dagger buried in the man's chest. "Tony? Oh My God! What _Happened_?"

"Probie," the man says, not opening his eyes, "would you mind getting off? You're _heavy_."

He'd been very surprised not to be dead, the weight of the limp body on his the only sensation beyond an impact mark that's certain to raise a bruise. Now he opens his eyes, still surprised but able to say: "and welcome back."

When Tim pushes back and releases the dagger, it falls to the side and lands with a clatter on the stone floor. The gleaming blade extends once again from the handle.

x

Tim kneels up, looking up at the faces of his friends and coworkers. "What's going on?"

"What do you remember?" Gibbs asks.

Tim thinks for a moment. What does he remember? "The Carstairs case. We were leaving, he was shooting at us, we returned fire, he tried to run us down and Tony pushed me out of the way."

"Are you saying," Ziva demands, "that you do not remember the past two _days_?"

"Remember _what_?" he demands in return. This is too surreal.

"Just as I figured," Gibbs concludes, greatly satisfied. "Killing DiNozzo was enough of a shock that his brain rebooted."

"_What_?" He looks around, unable to understand the nonsense his friends are spouting, but he does recognize his surroundings. "This is the Smithsonian Castle. How did I get here?"

"Don't ask us," Gibbs advises, "ask the Elf Lord. He brought us here."


	7. Epilogues

Epilogue One

More cogent explanations must await Ducky's examination of the patients in Autopsy. DiNozzo's injury, while painful, will leave no more than a significant bruise in the center of his chest, which will eventually fade. DiNozzo does not openly speak of his great relief that McGee is back, uncharacteristically keeping his silence.

Tim's injuries are limited to a cut on the back of his head which has already begun to heal and some insignificant bruising. The most Ducky has to do physically for him now is to change the square gauze at the back of his head and rewrap a fresh dressing.

Everyone surrounds Tim closely, anxious to understand the past two days.

"Are you sure you do not remember anything?" Ziva demands, unable to believe it. She wants him to at least remember some of this madness he'd put them though. She had planned to shock him back to reality by having him 'kill' his friend with the trick dagger borrowed from her Prop Master friend, but she hadn't counted on this degree of escape.

"I'm telling you, Zee, it's a complete blank. As far as I'm concerned, Tony pushed me out of the way of that car and I fell and landed on top of him in the Smithsonian."

"Just like one of his computers," Gibbs concludes. "His brain rebooted and wiped the RAM thingy."

"Well," Ducky admits, "there _is_ a precedent for this type of occurrence; I read about a case once–"

"Forget your precedents, Ducky, he's back and that's all that counts." He is vastly relieved and doing his best not to show it. He turns back to his Agent. "You've got a lot of work backed up upstairs."

"Jethro, I really think Timothy should have some time to rest and recuperate."

"Recuperate? You said all he has is a cut and bump on the back of his head."

"Physically, yes, but there's–"

"Best thing to get his head back on straight is work, not sitting around playing video games that got him into this in the first place."

"You mean I can't get a vacation out of this?" Tim wishes he could remember what he is asking for a vacation from.

Gibbs turns on him, the stress of the past few days coming out in his explosion. "_Vacation_? You've just spent the past day Lording it over the Elves of Dubhrein and now you want a vacation? You haven't turned in your report on the Carstairs shooting, you haven't even signed out for that day - do you have any idea what sort of _overtime _you're costing NCIS? The next time you want to take an excursion to 'Fantasy Island', use a book we've read - or at least one that's _finished_!"

In the brunt of Gibbs' anger, Tim turns to Tony. "You know, it feels so good."

"What does, Probie?" he asks, amazed at his friend's contented smile.

"To be home."

Epilogue Two

As affairs progress and questions are resolved, either satisfactorily or not, Jimmy Palmer and Michelle Lee move quietly away from the other Agents and slip unnoticed through the door that leads to the stairs. Michelle starts up but feels Jimmy's hand on her hip, turning to face him. Being one step above, she is nearly of a height with him and he puts his arms about her waist. "How are you feeling?"

She laughs softly. "I told you I'm fine. Yesterday I was high as a kite – for a little while – a few minutes. Thank you for covering for me."

"No problem. They all had other things to think about and I'm sure they would never understand. You're sure you're all right."

"Jimmy, will you stop freaking out? I was better than 'all right'. I eventually came down to 'fine'. I just never did so much so quickly before; ever. I'm amazed they bought it – with Special Agent DiNozzo's help of course."

"Yeah. _Wrestling_." He laughs at the irony.

"Well, it _was _a 'sleeper hold', I just didn't argue with his conclusion, that's all."

One of the aspects of her natural talent, enhanced and developed by her experience in Wiccan magic, is the ability to feel and manipulate auric or psychic energy. She can use it to relieve pain, to give strength to others or, on very rare occasions, actually draw strength from another person. She does not fully understand it, but that's no hindrance to making use of it.

Witches attuned to the ambient energy all around them, that which allows magical practitioners to affect that world in which they live, can be manipulated.

She had tried to explain it to Jimmy numerous times, usually failing, but she does keep trying. The greatest concern is to always use it for the benefit of others, not for anything that might do harm.

"He doesn't seem to have had any problems from it," Jimmy observes.

"I told you, sleep is all he needed to replenish himself. _I _was the one bouncing about like I had rabbits under my skin, or if I drank a quart of Abby's 'Caf-Pow!'. It's energy; pure and simple."

"Pure, yes; but never simple."

She leans in closer, her lips to his. "It's just one of the things you'll have to get used to if you want to marry a Witch."

Epilogue Three

Hours later, following the Noon Mass, having removed and hung up her vestments in the Vesting Room, Siobhan O'Mallory enters the office at St. Mary the Virgin Church. That Mass she had dedicated to all the sick and injured while she focused upon one man in particular.

She doesn't know exactly what has happened. Ducky seems to and Special Agent Gibbs puts on, she admits, a pretty good show, but she is satisfied. Timmy remembers nothing and she looks forward to forgetting as well. The looks Ziva David had been giving her all morning, ever since Timmy's impassioned declarations of undying love, had made her very uncomfortable.

Siobhan knows that Timmy is trying to divorce himself from his memories of what they had shared so long ago, and she has no intention of intruding into the relationship he has with David, either by what she does or by what _he_ does.

For now things are stable again, and she is content for a moment of quiet. He is well, she constantly thanks God for that mercy. The rest will settle itself in time.

Maybe it is beyond time she discusses with Doctor McFadden her deeper feelings. She had been reluctant to, but maybe at this next therapy session...

x

She crosses the office to her desk and finds upon it a plain manila envelope, sans return address. Only her name is printed upon it. Hearing Ellen Meyers, the new Church Secretary, working in her office down the short hall, she picks up the envelope, goes to her right to the office next to the entrance to the Church Hall. "Ellen?" the young brunette woman looks up, "do you know anything about this?"

"A messenger delivered it while you were saying Mass, Mother."

"Do you know who it's from?"

"Sorry," she answers with a shrug.

"Thank you," Siobhan returns to the office, resolving to speak to George Donaldson, the Rector. She has no love for receiving unknown mail and this is not the first occasion since Sally Ryder's retirement that she had been less than satisfied with the new woman's efficiency. It's one thing to give someone a break - she is the beneficiary of such Christian charity herself - but...

Sitting down at her desk, she tears open the large envelope and pulls out a set of papers. The cover letter contains no return address or signature.

'Dear Reverend O'Mallory: Trevor Hanson died five months ago here in Washington. I think you'll be interested in what he left behind. I'll be in touch.'

The name means nothing to Siobhan, though she crosses herself and says a short prayer for his soul as well as for those of all the departed. Setting the paper aside, she sees what is on the remaining pages and gasps.

A cold hand of fear seizes her heart. She looks from one horrible page to the next. Her heart pounding, sends a cold rush of fear through her. She remembers Trevor Hanson all too well!

Siobhan trembles, her breath erratic gasps and frigid fear fills her body. Dropping the papers, she presses her shaking hands to her chest, feels the pounding of her racing heart as she stares in horrified disbelief at the scattered pages upon her desk. Her broken gasping is loud in the quiet room.

.

Next episode: 'Inner Darkness':  
A spectacular death sparks one of the most disturbing cases Leroy Jethro Gibbs has ever been called upon to solve.


End file.
